An Education
by AndAllThatMishigas
Summary: Inspired by Lessons in Love by Warmwoollenmittens. After Jean leaves the Church, she comes to realize how inexperienced she is in the ways of love between a man and a woman. She approaches her fiance to have him teach her all the wonderful things that they will be able to share in their married life.
1. Chapter 1

**An Education**

Jean wasn't sure what had caused such thoughts to take over her mind. Such horrible, wonderful, distracting, delicious, distressing thoughts. It had been nearly a week since she'd spoken to Father Emory and signed the papers and formally left the Church. And while she had made that decision in order to marry Lucien and to begin their life together as husband and wife, she hadn't fully realized what it would mean for all other aspects of her life, to finally be free from the moral absolutes of her Catholic upbringing.

She had tried to tell herself that nothing had really changed. She just wasn't a part of Sacred Heart anymore. Her own beliefs and morals were still the same. A sin was a sin, the love of Christ still flowed in her heart. But something had gotten her thinking: what was stopping her from exploring this new freedom? She wouldn't ever be going back to confession. Her sins, whatever they might be, would not be absolved. But worrying about heaven and hell and forgetting to live had never been something Jean had allowed herself to do before. And now those worries were somewhat moot.

So now, when left alone with all these things to consider, Jean's mind had invariably turned to the previously forbidden relations between a man and a woman. She had sinned with Christopher before they were wed, had married while she had the life of their daughter growing inside her, a life that God had taken from her in punishment for those sins. Christopher had been the only man she had ever given herself to.

But she was going to marry Lucien. He would be her husband, and she knew she would give herself to him when the time came. And she knew that he wanted her. It was palpable, the fervent desire that came off him in waves whenever his eyes traveled up and down her body, his hands gently placed on her arm or back or shoulder that trembled with the need to explore her further, the heady lust of his kisses that made her weak at the knees. Yes, Lucien desired her, and Jean knew without a doubt that she desired him too.

But what could she offer him? What could she provide this man who had traveled the world and experienced so much more than Jean, who had barely ever left Victoria? When the time came and her body was bared to him, what would he see? Would he still want her? Would she live up to his expectations? Would she disappoint him?

Plagued by these worries, Jean took matters into her own hands. When Lucien was out one day, Jean went into his study and searched the books on the shelves for something that could perhaps answer her questions. Perhaps give her some education on the things she was too mortified to consider.

She had just found the volume she wanted and flipped it open when Lucien suddenly appeared in the doorway. "What's that you're reading?" he asked with a cheeky grin.

Jean let the book fall from her hands. "I...I didn't know you were home," she stammered. All pretense was gone, she had no way to defend her dignity now.

He picked up the book and saw precisely what she was reading. Lucien looked at her with confusion. "Jean?"

She sighed, confessing her true purpose. "I was just curious. As we get...closer, I'm realizing more and more how inexperienced I am. And I just...don't want to be found lacking." Her gaze was planted firmly on the floor and her cheeks were hot with embarrassment and shame.

"I don't wish to be indelicate, but I am curious about what you mean by 'inexperienced.' You and Christopher were married quite some time, you surely..."

"But we were so young, Lucien! I was barely out of school when we got married. I was still in school when we..." she trailed off, feeling her cheeks grow hot.

"Jean, I won't judge you for anything, darling, I just want to understand," Lucien prompted gently.

Her eyes couldn't quite reach his as she tried to explain, "Neither of us knew what we were doing. Feverish kisses in the hayloft, his hands under my blouse, and then before I knew it, he'd taken my knickers off me and undone his trousers and...it hurt, at first, but it was lovely and we got better at it as the years went on. He was always gentle and loving and passionate, in his way. And I loved him, I truly did."

"I wouldn't have ever thought you didn't," he interjected softly.

"And I never had a complaint about anything in our bedroom. But I just...I know there's so much more that we never...tried...or explored...oh this is awful." Jean covered her face with her hands in embarrassment. "I just don't want to disappoint you," she mumbled, ashamed of her own insecurity.

Lucien took her wrists in his hands and pulled them from her face. "My darling Jean, you could never disappoint me. In fact, I've been rather nervous about disappointing you."

"What!?"

He chuckled, slightly embarrassed in his own right. "You've been worried you're too inexperienced? I've been worried I'm too over-experienced. I want to please you, so desperately. I don't want to overwhelm you or push you too far or ever make you uncomfortable in the least. My worst fear is that I'll lose control and frighten you. I don't ever want to make you feel as though you need to hide from me or that you can't trust me."

"I do trust you, Lucien," she promised. "And I...I don't want to hide from you. I don't want to hide from the desire I feel for you."

He gently cupped her face in his hand, his thumb caressing her cheekbone. "Neither do I. So perhaps we can explore together? All the wonderful ways I can love you and please you."

"And how I can please you," she added.

"We'll get to that. I don't want you to worry about me. It's rather easy to please me," he said with a wry smirk. "But our love life should be something that excites you. Not something to cause trepidation."

"Will you teach me, then?"

Lucien nodded. "Of course. After we're married, we'll take our time with everything," he assured her.

But Jean shook her head. "No, not after we're married. Now."

"Now!?"

She amended, "Well, not right this second. But...soon."

Lucien's blue eyes went dark at the thought of making love to Jean sooner rather than later. He swallowed hard. "If you'd like, I could draw up some lesson plans."

A smile curled on her lips. "Alright. Perhaps we can start my education tomorrow. You don't have any patients in the morning, so after Matthew leaves for the police station..."

He swallowed hard, trying not to let his mind wander too much yet. "Yes. Tomorrow." Lucien leaned in and kissed her because he couldn't help himself, but quickly pulled back, knowing he couldn't get really started or he'd never stop. "Tomorrow."


	2. Chapter 2

Lucien was up all night contemplating the delicious, dangerous path his fiancée had led him down. She wanted him to teach her the delights of sex, which he was more than happy to do, but she wanted him to do it before the wedding. That part had been quite a shock. Never in his dreams did he believe she'd allow him to take such liberties before they were married. Though since leaving the Church, Jean's whole foundation had been removed from her life; her moral structure was no longer from Catholic canon but instead from her own heart and mind. Lucien wasn't sure if she really appreciated what she was getting herself into, if she really truly wanted this. He wouldn't dare allow them to journey further into the grips of lust without being certain.

And it was in those swirling midnight worries that Lucien created his first lesson plan, the first class of Jean's new education. He smiled and closed his eyes, imagining how to go about it, how he could prepare and control himself so he could best teach her. Eventually, he fell asleep, thoughts of Jean blessing his dreams.

All through breakfast that next day, Jean was quiet and visibly nervous. Matthew noticed, but wisely said nothing. He ate the toast and eggs she'd prepared for him, thanked her, and made his way out to the police station.

As soon as the door shut behind him, she turned her attention to Lucien, looking at him expectantly. He got her meaning without her having to say a word.

"Take your time doing the washing up. We're in no rush. You can come meet me in my study afterward," he replied.

"The study?"

"Yes."

"Should…should I change my clothes?" she asked, a bright blush coloring her cheeks. Jean cursed herself, hating that what had seemed like such a wonderful, brave idea yesterday was now filling her with apprehension and dread. But wasn't this precisely why she'd asked Lucien for lessons? Because she was worried about the physical aspect of their relationship? Surely the only way to get over that fear was to face it head on, to learn and to practice so she felt confident on their wedding night and not plagued by insecurities that these lessons were hopefully designed to get her past.

Lucien smiled at her fondly. "No, you don't need to change your clothes. Just join me in the study just as you are whenever you're ready." And with that, Lucien picked up his own breakfast plates and put them in the sink for Jean and left the kitchen, pausing only to place an affectionate kiss on the top of her head as she sat at the table, somewhat dumbstruck.

Once she was left alone, Jean rallied quite quickly. There was work to be done, and then there were fears to face. This was what she'd decided, and this was what she'd do. She would do whatever Lucien told her to. Jean knew more than anything else in this world that Lucien Blake loved her, wanted nothing more than to protect and cherish her, would do everything in his power to bring her happiness. And so she would trust him and follow his instruction and learn to appreciate wherever he led her. Yes, this would be fine.

While he waited for her to do the washing up, Lucien paced in his study. He needed to prepare. Needed to remind himself to keep breathing. The things he was going to ask her to do…controlling himself needed to be at the forefront of his mind. Because if his Jean was half as eager as she seemed, even a fraction as passionate as he believed she could be, Lucien might lose all sense.

The sound of the door closing caused him to turn and look up. Jean stood there, backed up against the door of his study, staring at him with apprehension in her eyes.

"Are you ready?" he asked, not quite knowing how else to begin.

She nodded, unspeaking.

Lucien could plainly see she was petrified. Precisely what he didn't want. "Jean, my darling, come here, please," he requested softly, holding his hand out to her. Just something, anything to ease her mind.

Jean did as he asked, holding out a slightly shaking hand to take his. Still, she said nothing.

"We don't have to do this if you don't want to," he reminded her gently.

"I want to," she insisted quickly, alarmed by the swiftness of her own response.

A loving smile graced his lips and a dark heat sparkled in his eyes. "Shall we begin our first lesson, then?"

Jean nodded.

Lucien gave her hand an affectionate squeeze and let it go. They were standing in the middle of the room, facing each other. He took a steadying breath and began, "Right then. Lesson one: communication."

A flicker of confusion passed over Jean's face.

He continued, "The most important part of a relationship, I think, be it intimate or otherwise, is knowing how to properly communicate with each other. I can't teach you anything if you can't tell me what you're thinking or feeling. And if this is really going to work, those are things I'll need to know. I refuse to simply take control of you and hope you're enjoying."

Jean had to bite her tongue. Because that was precisely what she'd hoped Lucien would do. But he wanted her to communicate? She could barely tell him out loud that she loved him! Was this was all a horrible mistake?

"So for today's lesson, we're going to practice communication. You are going to tell me exactly what you want me to do."

"But I don't know what I want you to do!" she replied, feeling the panic rise up in her throat again. Yes, this was definitely an awful, awful mistake.

Lucien just shook his head. "No, I don't expect you to know. We're going to explore it. Together. I'm going to ask you a lot of questions and give you a lot of options, and you just tell me what you want to try, what you like, what feels good. Because I can show you plenty of things, Jean, expose you to all sorts of carnal delights. But what really matters isn't just experiencing things but learning exactly what you like." He took a half a step forward. His voice dropped to a sultry tone. "I want you to be able to tell me exactly what will give you the most pleasure."

A shiver of anticipation ran through her body and the slight tingle of arousal took root in her, pushing aside her anxiety just a bit. Perhaps this wasn't such a mistake after all.


	3. Chapter 3

"We're going to focus on communication. And for that we need to have our mouths free to talk to each other. I'll only be using my hands, alright?"

A coiling tension grew deep in Jean's stomach as Lucien's soft, seductive voice explained his plan to her. She nodded in agreement. That was probably for the best. This was a lesson. She was here to learn. And if he kissed her, she knew she would be utterly lost.

"Let's start slow. Where would you like me to touch you? Your hand?" he asked, placing a gentle touch to her fidgeting fingers. "Your arm?" A feather-light touch on her bare forearm. "Your cheek?" Lucien was barely whispering now, matching the soft whisper of his fingers trailing across her cheek.

Jean's eyes fluttered closed and the smallest whimpering moan escaped her lips.

"You have to tell me, Jean," he prompted.

She opened her eyes again and could feel the flush of embarrassment and arousal color her cheeks. "My…my face. That felt nice."

He gave an encouraging little smile. Lucien lifted both his large, strong hands to cup her face. His thumbs traced her cheekbones and her smile lines. His touch was gentle and loving. "Shall I stay like this? Would you like me to move elsewhere? Perhaps stroke your hair or trace the lines of your neck?"

God, his voice would be the end of her. All she wanted to do was hear him speak in that tone as he touched her. Anywhere, wherever he liked. But she knew how this was to work. She had to respond. She had to choose, direct him in his ministrations. "Down my neck," she breathed, tilting her head back to give him more access to the pale column of her throat.

As Lucien moved his touch slowly and softly, he asked her, "Do you like that? Should I move slower or faster?"

"Just like that. Lower," she instructed, finally beginning to feel at ease with the way of things, losing herself in the quiet, delicate moment. He was taking his time with her. He was listening to exactly what she said, asking her all the things that she'd never been asked, never been forced to examine before. And she liked it.

Lucien's fingers made their way down her neck and lower, as she'd directed, over the cotton of her blouse, tracing the curve of her breasts. He felt himself begin to tremble. He swallowed hard to try to keep control of himself. This exercise was rapidly becoming more and more intimate, and Lucien really wasn't sure he could persevere in the way he knew Jean needed.

"Undo the buttons," she commanded.

Lucien froze.

Jean's eyes flew open and she gasped in horror at what she'd said. "Oh…"

"Tell me what you want, Jean," he coaxed. "Anything you want. There's no wrong choice. There's absolutely nothing you're supposed to do except whatever it is you feel you want. You just have to tell me."

Her gray gaze was steely with determination. She looked right in his eyes. "Undo the buttons," she repeated. Her voice cracked slightly, but she'd said it anyway.

Later, when he wasn't singularly focused on the task in front of him, Lucien would think about how wonderfully proud he was of his Jean. So brave, so self-assured, even when she herself didn't think she was capable of such things.

And Lucien began to unbutton her blouse. Each time his finger brushed against the slip she wore beneath her clothes, she would shiver. The fabric hung open, revealing that first linen undergarment. The last few buttons were tucked into the tight skirt she wore, so Lucien paused, waiting for further instruction.

"The buttons are undone," he informed her.

A trembling whisper came from her lips, "Take it off."

He was about to ask her to clarify her meaning when she turned and faced way from him. The zipper to the skirt was now within his grasp. "Jean, are you sure? We can stop. You don't have to continue if you don't want to."

"I want to," came her nervous yet determined reply.

Lucien's breathing was growing a bit heavy and he tugged the zipper of her skirt down slowly. His knuckles brushed against the swell of her bum, following the line of her body with the zip. The garment was loose enough to fall off her hips and pool at her feet.

Jean stepped out of the skirt and toed off her shoes as she did so, standing more than a full head shorter than him now and facing him once again.

Her slip was barely longer than the blouse, hitting at just above the middle of her thighs. Her legs were still covered by her stockings as always but with no shoes or skirt, the eroticism of seeing anything above her knees was quite overwhelming. "Shall I undo the rest of the buttons now?" He tried to give a light-hearted grin but couldn't quite manage it. His hands were flexing with the need to touch her again. But Jean was the one in charge. He needed to wait for her instruction.

"Yes," she replied simply.

Lucien's whole body was practically vibrating with want of her. The unbuttoned blouse fell to the floor. He'd never seen her in just her underthings before. "What would you like me to do, Jean?" he asked, desperate for her response.

"Touch me," she told him.

"Where?"

"My arms first. My back. My…my bare skin."

He did as he was asked. First he felt the goosebumps all over her arms and smoothed them away. His hands then traveled to her bare back, above the line of her slip. Her skin was so soft, and he could swear she smelled of tea and peach flower. He longed to taste her. But not now. Not today. Another time.

"Take off the rest."

Lucien thought he may have blacked out for a moment. "Jean…"

But Jean knew what she was asking. Every part of her skin that he touched ignited the flame of her desire. She felt a yearning tension unlike anything she'd ever experienced. Only Lucien and his touch could quell the desire burning within her now. Here in this room, behind the closed blinds and the locked door amidst an empty house. Here with this man, who loved her so well and vowed to protect and please her in equal measure. And she wanted him. She wanted him for this and for all things. And the very idea that he was so patient and so earnest and so willing to allow her the freedom to explore everything she felt and everything she wanted only served to secure in her mind that she wanted him. "Please. I want to feel you touch me."

"Where?" he asked once more.

"Everywhere."

Lucien's hands moved on their own accord, grasping the hem of the slip and pulling it over her head. He unclipped her stockings and kneeled to roll each one down. The scent of her arousal caught him off-guard, as his face was now only inches from her, and he had to bite his lip to keep from groaning. He pulled the garter belt off her before standing up again. Jean turned away from him again so he could unhook her bra. She shrugged out of it while he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of her knickers and pushed them down her legs. Her bare bum was now gloriously revealed to him. But before Lucien could properly revel in the sight of it and rake his gaze over the pale silk of the skin on her back, Jean turned back to face him.

He blinked, desperate to keep control. His own arousal was now quite insistent in his trousers, but Lucien had to ignore it. But the perfect fullness of her pert breasts and the dark pink of her nipples already puckered from the cold of the room and the eroticism of their new intimacy, threatened to overpower him. Below her breasts, her trim waist and slightly rounded stomach and flared hips led to the dark curls between her legs where Lucien longed to bury himself. But not now. Soon, but not now.

"You are so beautiful, Jean," he told her, still in utter awe.

She watched the way he watched her, feeling that delicious tension increase with every passing moment. She felt so exposed beneath his focused gaze. But he seemed to like what he saw. "Thank you," she replied, not sure what else to say.

Lucien looked back up at her lovely face, seeing that her violent blush was actually fading. He asked, "Where do you want me to touch you first?"


	4. Chapter 4

Jean did not know how to answer his question. She stared at him, her shame growing with the widening of her eyes.

"What's the matter, my darling?" Lucien asked her softly. Through the haze of his own lust, her fearful expression snapped his mind to focus. "We can stop," he reminded her. "If you're uncomfortable, we won't continue. But please tell me."

"I don't know," came her shaky reply.

"What don't you know?" He was being as patient as he could be, drowning every desire to grab her and kiss her and touch her as he pleased with the undying need for her to be safe and protected and happy at any cost.

She averted her eyes from his face, staring at the top button of his waistcoat in the middle of his chest. It was a little easier, somehow, to think clearly when she wasn't looking into the intensity of his loving gaze. Nevertheless, her face grew hot with embarrassment. "I don't know…where I want you to touch me."

An approving smile spread over Lucien's lips. "Why don't we decide together? I can start on your arms or your shoulders?"

She nodded, not sure what else to do.

"Shall I trace you with my fingertips or use the palm of my whole hand?"

Jean glanced back at his face, finding only encouragement and affection there. "Your whole hand, I think. I…" She trailed off. She'd been about to confess something she wasn't sure she could say out loud.

But Lucien caught her hesitation, pausing before reaching out to her again. "Yes?"

She couldn't avoid it now. "I've thought about it. How your hands would feel."

A shiver ran through Lucien. His body screamed out for her, but he had to resist. He swallowed hard. "Where?" he choked out. "Where did you think about how my hands would feel on you?"

"On my…" Jean glanced down to look at her own chest, hoping he wouldn't make her say the words.

"On your breasts?"

She nodded.

"Would you like me to touch you there now?" Oh, he prayed she'd say yes.

"Yes," she managed to squeak.

Without a moment's hesitation, Lucien took her breasts in his palms, feeling their weight, trying not to let his knees buckle beneath him. Jean gasped, to feel him touch her so intimately. Whether consciously or not, she arched against him, pressing herself into his grasp.

"Lucien," she breathed.

"Yes, my darling? Tell me, please."

"Harder," was all she could manage to say. As soon as he moved his hands, his palms creating friction on her nipples, she moaned. Never had he heard a more arousing sound in all his life.

His thumbs found where she was most sensitive and rubbed against her, holding her slightly rougher, harder, as she asked.

Jean was nearly gasping for breath now. Her eyes had fluttered closed, lost in sensation. But as she lost her inhibitions, Jean also started to lose her balance. She stumbled into Lucien's arms, and he nearly faltered in catching her. "Oh!" she exclaimed, jolted out of her trance. The nerves were back again. Lucien must think her the biggest fool, getting lost like that.

"Why don't we sit down?" he suggested, knowing all too well that he'd be unable to keep his own balance if they continued much further. Whatever he'd expected from this lesson, Jean had taken them far beyond it now.

She nodded, allowing him to hold her arm and lead her on a few wobbly steps to the sofa. Jean shifted a bit, feeling entirely indecent sitting with her body bare like this. Though feeling indecent was rather the purpose of these lessons anyway.

"Comfortable?" he asked.

He was so dear, this fiancé of hers. So concerned with her well-being at every moment. The trust she'd placed in him was well-earned. She wouldn't dare to do anything like this otherwise. "I love you," she told him softly.

Her declaration seemed to come from nowhere, which made it all the more touching. "And I love you, Jean," he replied.

That reassurance emboldened her. She picked up one of his big, beautiful hands between hers and placed it back on her breast, inhaling sharply at his renewed touch. "More. Please."

Lucien caressed her as he had before. It took everything in him to fight the urge to use his mouth on her, but that would be too much, he knew. This seemed to be plenty for her now. She arched against him again, pressing into his touch, gasping as he massaged and squeezed and caressed her.

"More," she begged. Her eyes were fluttering closed once more, her breath coming in pants. Perhaps unconsciously, she shifted where she sat, parting her thighs, taunting and inviting him.

"More of what, Jean?" he asked her, his voice merely rasping out of his mouth now. He leaned in close to her, his hands still splayed over her chest. "Do you want me to touch you between your legs?" he growled.

Jean gasped and jolted back.

Lucien quickly realized that perhaps such a thing had not occurred to her before this moment. He removed his hands from her body and backed away, immediately contrite. "You can say no. You can always say no," he assured her.

"No," she whispered.

His heart sank in his chest. This was precisely what he didn't want, to come on too strong, to frighten her off, to dissuade her from their intimacy in any way.

Seeing the disappointment written in his eyes, Jean clarified, "No, I don't want to say no. Please show me." She leaned back against the arm of the sofa and spread her legs.

A small whimper escaped Lucien's lips. He couldn't help it. Christ, this woman was everything he could ever possibly dream. He reminded himself to have patience. He took a deep breath to calm himself down, to steel himself for the overwhelming glory of her.

But he hesitated too long. His eyes glued to the glistening thatch of dark curls between her legs, his face unreadable, his lips parted but silent. Jean faltered. Her knees moved together again. "Lucien, is everything alright? Did I do something wrong?" she asked.

Somewhat inexplicably, he started to chuckle. But lest she get the wrong idea, he explained, "You've done absolutely nothing wrong. I'd told you, there's nothing you could do wrong here. Not with this, not between us. I'm just amazed at your willingness. It's rather flattering that you'd trust me, and, frankly, I'm trying very hard to maintain my control."

Jean blushed something fierce. She'd seen enough movies and read enough books to understand what Lucien meant. To her recollection, such an uncontrolled ravaging of lovemaking had never occurred in her own experience, and the very idea that Jean Beazley, naïve, smart-mouthed farmgirl she was, could inspire such things in worldly Lucien Blake was almost laughable. "I wouldn't mind if you lost control," she ventured.

"Now is not the time, my darling," he replied ruefully. He let out a deep breath and placed his hands on her knees, gently easing them apart. "Now then, where were we?"


	5. Chapter 5

Lucien's palms travelled up from her knees and over her thighs. When he reached her hips, he paused. "If you'd like to lie back, it might be more comfortable," he suggested.

Jean nodded, shifting back so she was sprawled against the corner. Her knees fell open in front of her, baring herself to her husband-to-be. Her face felt very hot. Her whole body felt very, very hot. Every part of her was flush and ready for him. For whatever he would do. But he remained still. He only gazed into her eyes. His lips were parted and he was waiting with bated breath, waiting for…something.

And Jean remembered what they were doing. Communication. She had to tell him.

"Lucien, I want you to touch me," she said. Her heart pounded in her chest. Surely he could hear it, hear the clamoring of her heart and body for him. Only him.

And Lucien Blake did as he was told. His fingers dragged across her soft skin and into her coarse curls. She was so wet. His cock twitched in his pants and he had to take some slow breaths.

He watched her face. As his fingertips lightly traced her folds, feeling her hot and dripping at his touch, Lucien stared at her face. Jean gasped at the first tentative movements of his hand against her. Her eyes fluttered closed and her mouth fell open.

"Tell me, Jean," he begged. He began to stroke her with a bit more purpose.

"It feels…" Her words faded as she whimpered and bit down on her bottom lip.

"Yes?"

"So good," she moaned.

It was then that Lucien found the exact spot he was searching for, the place that he was rather certain had never been discovered on her body before. Her high-pitched sound of surprise and delight let him know more than any words ever could. "Oh yes, darling," he groaned. "Tell me what you want."

"Don't stop!"

Lucien couldn't help but grin. "No, I won't stop." He rubbed her with gusto, moving at a steady but firm pace. "Like that?" he asked.

"Faster," she moaned. Her hips began to buck involuntarily, seeking more and more friction. Her head was thrown back against the arm of the sofa, her back arched in the most beautiful manner.

His hand moved as fast as he could manage, trying to find the right rhythm that would make her climax. She was panting and whimpering, her fingernails scratching the cushions around her. "Come for me, Jean," he begged. "Let yourself go. Tell me what you need."

But Jean couldn't seem to make her mind form words. There was an exquisite tension building within her, almost to the point of pain. The way Lucien touched her was better than anything she'd ever experienced. Nothing ever in her life had ever felt like this. She nearly wanted to weep at the sensations, like lightning under her skin.

And then she shattered. Every nerve in her body was on fire. Pulsing waves of pleasure radiated from her center and through her limbs and back. She gasped for air, emitting a noise from the back of her throat of bone-deep satisfaction. All of that tension was released, leaving her feeling light and heavy all at once.

"Stop," she murmured. Her tongue felt thick in her mouth.

Lucien immediately removed his hand from her, respecting her request and not wanting to overstimulate her.

Her brow furrowed. He watched her face fill with a firestorm of conflicting emotion. "No, don't stop."

"Don't stop?" he asked, needing her to clarify. But he did touch her once more, as slowly and softly as he could.

"Mmm," she hummed happily. "Gently," she instructed.

"How's that?" he asked, touching her lightly. His fingers were damp and slick from her overwhelmingly wet arousal. But this was certainly enough for one day. More than enough. Having Jean naked and spread in front of him, letting him touch her and bring her to the heights of passion was more than he'd dreamed.

"Wonderful," she praised. Jean blinked her eyes open and smiled at him.

As he lazily stroked her, bringing her back down from her high, she stretched like a contented cat. Everything about her was lithe and elegant, and Lucien couldn't take his eyes off her. "You're so beautiful, Jean. Seeing you like that…" He trailed off, not having the proper words to express the gorgeous eroticism of watching her orgasm.

"That was incredible. Thank you, Lucien." She pulled away from him ever so slightly, sitting up.

"I am glad you enjoyed," he chuckled pleasantly. "And if you're all finished, I suppose we ought to clean up."

Jean opened her mouth to reply and quickly shut it, frowning curiously. "What do you mean, if I'm all finished? Aren't we…aren't we done?"

"We don't have to be if you don't want to be," he replied.

She just stared at him. And Lucien realized that she'd probably never come more than once at a time before. And, even more likely, she probably hadn't been able to achieve orgasm every time she'd had sex. This was surely the first time she'd managed it in this manner before. It stood to reason that she'd believe this was the end of their lesson.

"Jean, if you'd like to continue, we certainly can. I can do more of what I just did, or we can try something else. Whatever you want. You just have to tell me," he explained kindly. He placed his hand on the top of her thigh, not wanting to pressure her one way or the other, but after what they'd just done, he couldn't quite bear to part from the texture of her skin.

"I…" She faltered. The conflict within her mind was shown in technicolor across her face.

"Yes?"

Jean settled back into her supine position, spreading her legs once more. "I want you inside me."


	6. Chapter 6

There was nothing Lucien wanted more in the world than to give Jean what she wanted. To bury himself to the hilt inside her and find his release inside her wet, hot, trembling body. But even though she told him that's what she wanted, he knew she wasn't truly ready. He wasn't ready to take that step with her. As much as he wanted her—God did he want her!—the reasonable, gentlemanly part of him that still clung to his consciousness warned him to be cautious.

"Alright, Jean," he replied finally.

She leaned forward hungrily, reaching toward his belt buckle, but he grabbed her hand.

"No, not just yet. Hands only today, remember?"

Her eyes went wide as she realized what he meant. Which certainly wasn't what she had in mind.

"Do you trust me?" Lucien asked, ignoring the way his whole mind was screaming at him to take what she willingly gave.

Jean nodded.

"Then lie back, darling. And you can feel me inside you."

Her whole body trembled in lustful anticipation. If he could do so much to her with just the touch of his fingers, what other delights would he show her? She was certainly getting much more of an education than she expected. So many things Lucien could do to her that she'd never even considered. It was never, ever like this with Christopher. If either of them had any idea, surely her husband would have taken care of her in this manner, surely he loved her enough to want to bring her pleasure, if only he knew how. And Jean hadn't known what sorts of pleasures her body could experience, not like this. But Lucien knew, and with patience and gentle guidance, he was showing her the heights she could achieve.

Lucien's hand crept between her open legs once more. He stroked her the way he had before, his fingertips pressing and rubbing patterns that made her moan in appreciation. And then, slowly, his index finger slipped inside her. Jean could feel how slick her body had become from his efforts, how easy it was to slide in. The sensation of it was rather heady. It was different than sex as she was used to it. Lucien's finger was dexterous and flexible, searching inside her with precision as he set an easy pace, creating friction by slipping in and out of her.

"How's that?" he asked.

"Mmm. More," she begged, wiggling slightly to adjust where he was reaching her.

Without further discussion, Lucien added another finger in, causing her to gasp. The added girth of his thick fingers felt absolutely incredible. And when he curled his fingers up inside her, she cried out in ecstasy.

"Right there! Oh god," she moaned, her head falling back on her neck.

Lucien continued to hit that precise spot and used his thumb to stroke her harder and he thrust inside her. Her breath as coming more ragged now, in high-pitched pants. He'd only made her come once so far, but he knew the tell-tale signs already. She was getting close. "Yes, Jean," he murmured, redoubling his efforts.

The sensation was slightly different this time. This bone-deep implosion, the way the tension caused by his touch built her up and snapped. "Lucien!" she screamed, as the tingling thrumming pleasure made its way all through her body, inside and out.

Hearing her cry out his name was almost more than he could take. As much as he wanted to prolong her climax, give her another on its heels, he couldn't bear it. Lucien removed his hand, fingers wet from being inside her, and sat himself on the far end of the sofa away from her. Wet or not, he clenched his fists and shut his eyes tight, begging the throbbing of his cock to dissipate. He really should take care of it, but he couldn't do that in her presence, nor could he run out to the bathroom.

"Lucien?"

He turned to the sound of her voice, his jaw and hands still clenched with his unresolved tension. He practically choked, seeing her lie there so open and flushed and glowing. His whole body was too overwhelmed to speak.

Jean sat up on her knees and crawled toward him. "Your turn now," she murmured. Her delicate hands found their way to his waistcoat buttons.

"No, this is for you," he insisted. "I'm alright."

Her eyes wandered his face, which looked almost pained, and his rigid posture. "You're certainly not alright. You took care of me, now let me take care of you."

"This lesson isn't about me," he tried to tell her.

But Jean was undeterred. Her whole body was loose and humming with the remnants of the high he'd brought her. Such release had made her bold, it seemed. Otherwise, she never would have imagined insisting on reciprocating for him. Jean had absolutely no confidence or understanding of what to do to please a man. Before, all she'd done was spread her legs as Christopher moved on top of her, and that had been sufficient. But if Lucien could bring her to such heights with just his hands in such varied ways, surely she could use her own hands to pleasure him? Her natural curiosity about how such things could be done overtook whatever trepidation she had, which was further muted by her post-orgasmic haze. She placed a warm hand on his thigh, causing him to jump. "Our marriage is not going to be one-sided, and neither is our love life. And you told me I could have anything as I tell you what I want, and now I want to learn how to bring you pleasure. Please, Lucien."

He was far too weakened to refuse her, far too weary from his need for release. And she was very correct, he did tell her she could ask for whatever she wanted, and how could he ever deny her anything? At last, Lucien gave a small nod.

Jean went back to undoing the buttons of his waistcoat and removing his tie. "Now then," she began softly. "Tell me exactly what you want me to do."


	7. Chapter 7

Lucien's mouth was dry. Jean's nimble fingers were undoing the buttons of his waistcoat. She pulled the knot of his tie and the blue silk fell to the floor amidst her discarded clothes. She continued on, tackling the buttons on his shirt now.

"What are..." He wasn't sure how to finish his question.

"I want to see you, Lucien," she murmured. "I want to feel you."

How could he possibly say no? He kicked off his shoes and removed his socks by the time Jean's hands reached his belt.

"You're supposed to be communicating," she reminded him.

He let out a strangled chuckle. "What you're doing is very good. Very, very good," he replied.

"You'll need to stand up," Jean prompted.

Lucien stood and removed his waistcoat, shirt, and vest before letting his trousers drop to the floor. Jean watched him in slight awe. She'd never seen a more perfect male body in all her life. Even marred by thick ropes of scar tissue all over his back, he was beautiful. She'd seen him without his shirt before, when he'd been stabbed and she assisted changing his bandages. But his legs were toned and muscular, and his bum was like that of a perfectly carved idealized statue.

Unable to help herself, Jean reached out and traced her fingertips from his back down to his thigh. Lucien gave a jolt and a shiver, causing her to pull her hand away. Communication, she reminded herself. "May I..."

"Yes, darling, of course, I just wasn't quite ready. Of course you can touch me. But...hands only, please. I don't think I can survive much more," he cautioned.

Jean sat on the sofa behind where he stood. She traced the lines of his scars, which she's done before, reverently absolving the pain of every one. And downward her hands traveled, trembling slightly upon reaching the hard, beautiful muscle of his bum and his thighs. She had the sudden urge to follow her hands with her mouth, but she promised hands only. She would resist. For now.

When her touch left his body, Lucien turned to face her. Her gaze immediately went to his erection. Her eyes went wide and very dark, pupils blown with desire. Lucien had never felt more foolish male pride than right now, having met her approval.

Jean started at him, hard and proud, bobbing slightly with his movements. His was not the first she had seen, of course, but she had never seen one quite like it. Long and thick and hard, practically throbbing. She had no idea a man could get that big. A daunting notion, to say the least. But that was for another day. After all, today's lesson was communication. And hands only.

"Alright?" he asked, stupidly not having anything else to say but suddenly slightly nervous after her prolonged silence.

She nodded numbly before finally looked up at his face. "I want to touch you," she told him boldly.

He swallowed hard—he'd had to do that a lot today. His Jean had certainly surprised him beyond belief. "Let me sit down. I don't think I could manage standing," he replied.

She moved aside to give him space. Part of her wanted to climb on top of him and press as much of her body to as much of his as she could manage but again, today was not for such things. She was supposed to learn. Already she had learned so much about her own body and desires. Now was her opportunity to learn his. "How should I touch you?" she asked, her tentative hand inches from his cock.

"Gently. Softly. Please," he replied.

As gently and as softly as she could, Jean traced her index finger down his shaft. Lucien hissed slightly at finally having contact where he desperately needed it. "What else?" she wondered, amazed at the soft texture covering such a hard and solid appendage, wanting to explore further, wanting to make him come apart as he had done to her, if only she knew how.

"Your…your palm."

Jean gripped him gently, as he'd advised before.

"Squeeze a bit. Stroke up and down."

His sentences were clipped and his breath was panting. The tension in his body wasn't eased in the slightest by her touch. Jean followed his instruction and hoped it might help. He whimpered, his eyes snapping shut. "What else?" she whispered again.

But Lucien didn't seem to be able to answer her. Not really. His hands were fisted at his sides, his feet planted firmly on the floor, his face an expression of near pain. Jean somehow understood, assuming the sensations for him were similar to those he'd created in her, the unhinged and tension-filled build before the finish, when the waves of release would be so very sweet.

"Faster?"

All he could do was nod. Jean's hand increased its speed. She noticed he tended to react more when she touched the end of him, so she experimented a bit, rubbing her thumb over the moistened head of his cock. She couldn't help but smile proudly when he gasped in pleasure at that. With a bit more pressure and a bit faster, she did the same maneuver again.

Lucien's whole body shuddered and she could feel a pulsating in her grip as he erupted with a mighty roar, his hips thrusting into her hand until he was entirely spent. He slumped down, breathing heavily. Jean continued to stroke him lightly, slowing significantly, moving almost lazily as he had done for her when she was coming down from her high.

Eventually, she did move her hand away, feeling a bit messy about the whole thing. It was marvelous, really, to see him come undone like that. Never before had she gotten to see him lose control in such a wonderful way, with pleasure instead of pain, with joyful release instead of frustrated sorrow. To have brought him to that place of release was an act she found had filled her with affection, an expression of her love and adoration for him.

But with him lying there practically boneless, Jean was left feeling a bit nervous. Had she actually pleased him? Did she do something wrong? Christopher usually fell right to sleep after sex, but they'd never really done it in the middle of the day, not since that first time in the hayloft. Lucien's behavior now was not that of a grateful or appreciative man. A sinking feeling built in her chest, and she suddenly wanted to grab all of her clothes and run from the room and hide in shame. She had no right to be doing these things, no sense of how to do anything. What on earth had she been thinking!?

Lucien had promised to teach her, however. She wanted to learn. She wanted to be able to match him with their lovemaking as she did with nearly everything else in their life together. Jean Beazley was not a woman who allowed others to make her feel inadequate, particularly not herself. And Lucien had shown her many, many things today. But the theme of the lesson was about one thing in particular. Communication. It was up to her to communicate, to try to express herself and what she wanted. And she hadn't given up yet.

Nervously, she tentatively ventured, "Lucien?"


	8. Chapter 8

The sound of her voice roused something inside Lucien. He had no words, no energy, no control. His limbs were heavy and boneless, his entire being filled with pleasure and boundless love. Somehow, he hauled himself back into a seated position and opened his eyes to look upon her, his glorious Jean.

She was watching him with visible apprehension. It didn't register in his mind to be concerned, to try to understand what was worrying her, or to attempt at soothing it away. Lucien pulled her into his arms swiftly and kissed her. He pressed his mouth to hers in the way he'd longed to do since they started this illicit educational morning. She made slight protest, her sounds muffled by his insistent lips. He merely held her tight, his hands gripping her beautiful bare flesh to his heart's content. She soon melted against him, her hands finding their way to his face and holding him against her. Her lips parted for Lucien's tongue to surge into her mouth. His passion was matched by her own as they continued to kiss hungrily, messily, ardently.

Jean was the first to pull away, her breath ragged as she rested her forehead against his.

"Oh Jean, my Jean," he murmured reverently, still reveling in the feeling of her skin on his. Now that the urgency of his arousal had been quelled, the incredible intimacy of all they'd done now threatened to overwhelm his emotions. She was so brave, his Jean, so open and willing, so giving and loving. She was passionate and wanton in a way he'd never expected, and he loved her all the more for it, knowing that her ardor might possibly match his own. And to think, this was only just the beginning for them.

"I think I'd better tidy things up and get lunch on," she said quietly, extricating herself from his grasp.

He watched her gather all of her clothes off the floor, the way she blushed and furrowed her brow trying to decide whether or not to put some of her things back on to go upstairs to her bedroom. Lucien wanted to tell her not to bother, that no one was home but them, that she should be proud and confident with her body, that it gave him unending joy to see her completely uninhibited this way. But now that his passions had begun to cool, he could see that she was inhibited. Even completely naked, Lucien could see that Jean had re-erected the protective barriers around her heart and mind. The way she squared her shoulders, the way her expression went stern. The vulnerability she'd so graciously exposed to him in this room during this lesson had been all safely stored away inside her.

And so when she put her blouse on and pulled her skirt up, not fully fastening either and not bothering with her underthings, Lucien didn't say a word. He let whatever light, teasing comment he'd considered die on his lips. And when Jean gathered her things and avoided meeting his eyes, he still said nothing.

"Please put your things in the hamper so I can do the wash after lunch," she instructed before hurrying out of the study and closing the door firmly behind her.

Lucien stayed where he was sitting, naked on the sofa, trying to get his hazy lust-filled brain to focus and figure out what on earth had just happened.

Jean practically ran up the stairs to her bedroom. She dropped her things on the floor and sat on the edge of her bed with her fingers pressed tight against her mouth, breathing heavily through her nose. She blinked her eyes in a desperate attempt to keep from crying.

What had she done? What had she allowed him to do? What had she been thinking!?

A wave of guilt and nausea crashed through her, forcing her to take slow, deep breaths. Now that she was covered up and alone, Jean could properly ruminate on what this lesson, this education she'd asked for, had really been. The sins she'd committed felt almost too numerous to count. The urge to hurry to the bath and scrub herself clean before running to Sacred Heart for confession was almost overwhelming. She'd left the Church and could find no solace or absolution there, and, if she were really honest with herself, confessing her sins would not comfort her now.

But a bath. A bath would be good. Jean grabbed her dressing gown and some clean knickers and went down the hall to run herself a hot, soothing bath.

Lucien felt the chill of his nudity within a few minutes. He pulled on his trousers and gathered his clothes to put in the hamper as Jean had requested. And all the elation of their morning together had left him. He felt hollow and empty now, his guilt eating him from the inside out.

How on earth could he have done that? He had been so prepared to wait until they were married. Well, for the most part. He should have resisted her request for an education in such matters until the matching gold bands were around their fingers. He should have known better. He should have been stronger for the both of them. He should never have succumbed to his weakness for her, his undying need to give her anything she asked. He knew now that she had asked too much of them both and clearly regretted it.

And how could he ever look her in the face again, knowing that they had been so resplendent together, knowing the heights of passion to which they'd brought each other, only to now know that she hated him for it? Lucien had tried so desperately to move slowly, to ease her into their physical relationship. He'd clearly failed her there. What was it, he wondered, that had been too much for her? Was it his touch coaxing her to orgasm? His fingers thrusting inside her? His own rather undignified ejaculation all over her hand? Or, perhaps most likely, the way he'd grabbed her and kissed her, forcing himself on her when she protested and not giving her a single word of affection?

Lucien dropped his face in his hands, scrubbing his face exhaustedly. He needed to find a way to apologize. Eventually. For now, he wasn't quite sure he could face her. After all they'd done that morning, to see her avoid his gaze or regard him with regret and disgust was just too much for him. This physical release had bared his body and his heart to her, and to have her swat him away in any sense might just wound him too deeply now.

After her bath, Jean felt much better about things. Her body was more relaxed than it had been in over a decade, thanks to Lucien's tender and skilled efforts. And even if they weren't married, he'd done those things for her out of love, and she couldn't regret that.

Her own actions toward him, however, those gave her significantly more pause. He seemed to have enjoyed it, though he hadn't said anything. Kissing her deeply as he did was probably a clear indication that he appreciated the touch of her hand on him. But that sin, that waste of seed without any purpose or possibility of conception, Jean had been very careful of that sin all her life. That was how Christopher had convinced her up in the hayloft that very first time, telling her he wanted her and needed her and that even if they weren't married, wasting their potential to create life was the greater sin. She had agreed at the time, though certainly regretted it when she found out she'd fallen pregnant. Everything had worked out for the best, in its way, even if the path there had been a bit more fraught than Jean would have liked.

But things were different now. Her concerns about sin were remnants of her life in the Church, a life and a faith that had abandoned her as she went forward at Lucien's side. He had told her over and over that there was nothing wrong with anything they did together, and she truly wanted to believe him. She knew he was right, that her concerns were just out of habit than true belief, but it would take her some time to be comfortable with all they'd done and all she still wanted to learn from him. Perhaps after dinner they could have a chat and she could apologize for acting so coldly toward him when she rushed out of the study.

Lunch came far too soon for either of them. Thankfully, Matthew came home for the hour and complained about some bureaucratic nonsense from Melbourne to distract from the awkward tension between Jean and Lucien. Neither could look at the other. And as soon as they finished the sandwiches Jean had made, she busied herself with the washing up, and Lucien left with Matthew to go to the police station.

Dinner was more of the same. Jean kept to herself, cooking and serving and eating quietly with her gaze planted firmly on her plate. Matthew and Lucien remained lost in conversation about their ongoing case. Usually Lucien would ask Jean's input and talk through the sticking points, but he did not consult her now. And that was fine with Jean. She still wasn't quite ready to face him properly, and she wasn't entirely certain she would be able to carry on as though their entire relationship had not undergone a massive shift that morning.

But after dinner. After dinner, she'd speak to him. When Matthew excused himself for the evening—more out of unspoken respect for the engaged couple and to give them some privacy than because he was really tired—Jean would share some of Lucien's scotch and have it out with him. After all, they'd engaged in an entire lesson about communication that morning. The least she could do was continue it when they were both fully clothed.


	9. Chapter 9

Jean walked into the parlor after she finished the dishes that evening, mentally preparing herself for the rather frank discussion and embarrassing apology she would need to give Lucien. She would have a sherry and work on her knitting until Matthew left them alone, and then she'd broach the subject with him. She had it all worked out.

But this, as with so many things when it came to Lucien, didn't go at all as she expected. Matthew was already standing, saying goodnight as she came in. She nodded at him as he limped off. Well, at least this way she'd have more time with Lucien. Lucien, however, stood up a moment after.

"I'm afraid I'm exhausted myself, actually. I'll see you in the morning, Jean."

And with that, he practically scurried off to his bedroom, leaving her alone in the parlor with the wireless still playing music. Unsure of what else she was supposed to do, Jean cleaned everything up and turned out the lights and went upstairs to her room, feeling rather dejected about the whole thing.

Maybe Lucien needed to sleep on it. Yes, that was probably it. They'd talk in the morning. As soon as Matthew left for the station after breakfast.

But there again, her plan was thwarted. Lucien left with Matthew. And they both said they wouldn't be home for lunch.

Jean realized now that her fiancé was avoiding her. The shame and rejection hit her in a powerful wave. Since she was home alone, Jean sat down at the kitchen table and had herself a bit of a cry. It was pointless self-pity, she knew. But had it really been so awful for him? Had she disappointed him so deeply that now he couldn't even face her? She had tried, she really had. And she'd thought that she'd pleased him. He certainly seemed to appreciate her body and her reactions and her instructions to him as she learned what her body could feel. A new world had been opened up to her, but now it felt as though the door had been slammed in her face.

It was her own fault, surely. She'd hurried out of the study so quickly, putting her clothes on and barely saying a word to him. They were supposed to be communicating, and the moment she got upset and afraid, instead of telling him, she'd run away. So much for being fearless Jean. Maybe she didn't deserve all that Lucien could have taught her, if that's how she was going to behave.

For two more days, she and Lucien walked on eggshells around each other. Jean hadn't cried again—for now she felt rather silly for having done so—but she hadn't attempted to approach the subject with Lucien again, either.

But on the third day, Jean felt she'd had quite enough. They were going to be married in two months' time, for goodness sake! And after all they'd done, after all she'd let him do, after all she'd done for him! And this was how he treated her? How very dare he!

Thankfully, Lucien had patients in the afternoon, so he couldn't go running off with Matthew all day and hide from her. He had closed the door in his study to review medical files, supposedly. Normally Jean didn't like to interrupt him when he was working. But at this point, after three days of avoiding each other and becoming increasingly cross about the whole situation, she didn't much care if she interrupted him.

Jean opened the door and slammed it behind her. "Lucien Blake, I cannot believe you!" she scolded sharply.

Lucien looked up to see her standing there, her eyes looking quite flinty as she glared at him. "Jean?"

"We've done quite enough of this. After what I let you do to me, and after what I did for you, _you_ are not allowed to feel embarrassed and avoid me!"

He was stunned to say the least. "Oh. I…oh," he stammered.

Jean didn't say anything more. The frown on her face said everything it needed to.

Lucien sighed. He stood up and gestured to one of the chairs in front of his desk. Not the sofa. Not just yet. "Please sit, Jean," he offered.

She did as he requested, though she did so stiffly.

"I think I should explain."

"Yes, I think you should. After all, you told me to communicate my feelings. The least you can do is return the favor," she snapped.

"You're very right," he replied gently. "I suppose I haven't been a very good teacher, not following my own lessons. But I don't think I quite knew what to say. I want more than anything else for you to trust me and enjoy our love life. I just couldn't bear it to see you upset and ashamed of what I did, of…of how I lost control."

Her brow furrowed in confusion. "How you lost control?"

"The way I grabbed you like I did and forced myself on you with that kiss, I can't tell you how sorry I am," he apologized contritely, hanging his head.

Jean's eyes went wide. "You've been avoiding me over a kiss? Lucien, you only caught me by surprise. I quite liked the kiss!"

He looked up sharply. "You did?"

"Of course I did. I love your kisses." Jean blushed slightly at the admission.

"Then it was the rest of it that upset you?"

Her whole expression softened. "Have you really been worried that I was upset? Was that all?"

"Well, yes. Shouldn't I be worried?"

Jean reached out and took his hand between both of hers. "Lucien, nothing you've done upset me in the least. Quite the opposite, actually. You've been…well, wonderful. But all of this is still very new to me, and I know I did all the paperwork to leave the Church quite a while ago, but all those old habits and that belief system I had my whole life, that's not something I can just sign away as easily. And I see now that I should have told you that, but so much of this is my burden to work through on my own."

"I do want to help you, however I can," he said gently, stroking his thumb over the back of her hand.

"I know. And you are."

She chewed on her bottom lip, thinking.

"There's something else?"

Jean couldn't believe she was really going to ask him, but if they were going to communicate, they might as well actually communicate. "So you...enjoyed yourself?"

It took Lucien a moment to try to figure out what she was talking about. And then he remembered. He hadn't said anything after he'd... "Oh god, Jean, I'm so sorry! Of course, how would you have known? Oh, Jean, I more than enjoyed myself. I didn't have words. I don't think I have the words for it now. What you did was absolutely incredible. You are...you're _very_ good, Jean."

She blushed bright pink. "Oh good," she mumbled, trying to hide her smile.

"I hope I haven't dampened your enthusiasm."

"No, but you must know that this isn't very easy for me."

He nodded. "I know, darling. And you're handling everything wonderfully."

"But when I'm not handling things so wonderfully, I need you to not run away from me!"

He squeezed her hands with reverent affection. "I'm so sorry, Jean. I was just so worried. I couldn't bear for you to regret what we've done, not when it's just the first step for us."

"So there are more steps?" she asked, a slight glint shining in her eyes.

"Oh yes, many more," he assured her.

"Well, if you'd like to continue…"

He interjected before she could even finish speaking. "Next lesson tomorrow morning."

Jean laughed lightly. "Alright, good. I look forward to it." She stood up, taking her hands from his gasp in order to put them lovingly on his cheeks. "And now I have some work to do, and so do you." She pressed a lingering kiss to his lips before letting him go.

Lucien watched her like a lovesick puppy dog. "Jean?" he called after her. She turned expectantly, one hand on the doorknob. "I love you. Very much."

Her face broke into a beaming smile. She didn't say anything more. Just grinned and left the study, closing the door quietly behind her.


	10. Chapter 10

Lucien had patients first thing the next morning. He had a bit of trouble concentrating on treating Jimmy Watson's rubella, his mind was so full of his plans for later in the day. He had put a lot of thought into Jean's second lesson. Their second lesson, really. He'd been learning all about her as she learned about herself and all that they could do together.

That first lesson had gone so far beyond what he'd anticipated. Lucien loved her no matter what, loved her more than he could say, would love her no matter what their sex life ended up being. He wanted her so desperately, and he wanted for her to enjoy their love life, certainly. But the degree of her openness and eagerness, even despite her doubts and concerns, had left him woefully unprepared during their first encounter.

He'd told her to tell him what to do. But he had no idea that she would want so much or that she would come around to being able to tell him so quickly. His heart raced as he wrote the prescription for Mrs. Watson and bid them farewell.

Jean walked the Watsons out and then stepped in to the surgery. "Lucien?"

"Yes?"

She was blushing slightly. "That was your last appointment for the day."

He nodded. "Yes, I know," he replied.

Jean bit her bottom lip slightly. "Matthew phoned that he won't be coming home for lunch.

His eyes widened. "Oh did he?"

"We'll be alone till dinner. Would you like to have lunch and then I can meet you in the study?" she asked him shyly. But Jean, bless her, was standing tall and proud, her wonderful way of fighting past her nerves.

Lucien smiled. "I think perhaps we should skip lunch, if it's all the same to you."

"Aren't you hungry?"

His smile widened. "Oh yes. But I'm not hungry for food."

"You're hungry for…?

"You."

Jean swallowed hard and a shiver passed through her. Lucien was looking at her like he was quite hungry for her. It was astounding, really, to see him not even attempt to hide his amorous attentions. And Jean hadn't realized until that moment that he must have been hiding his feelings quite a lot before. Or perhaps it was just their first lesson that had enticed him so. Yes, that was probably it. He probably hadn't wanted her as much the first time.

But now he'd seen her and felt her and made her come apart in his hand, quite literally, and perhaps now he wanted her as a result. And wasn't that a rather pleasing thought? That he'd seen her and felt her and not found her wanting?

In spite of herself, Jean smiled rather proudly. "I see. Straight to the study, then? Would you like me to change my clothes this time?"

"Not the study, no." He frowned, just then, as though a distressing thought had just occurred to him.

"What's wrong?" she asked quickly, trying to prevent her heart from sinking in her chest too much.

"Well I can't quite decide. So perhaps I'll ask you when we get started. Since these lessons are for you. And I need to do a better job of remembering that," Lucien replied.

"Alright," Jean replied, not quite fully understanding what he was talking about.

He sighed lightly, refocusing his attention on her. "Right, would you like to begin, or shall we start later?"

"Oh! Well, now is fine," she answered. It just hit her in that moment that they would be doing…things. And all of her nerves returned. After all, she had no idea what to expect. Lucien seemed to have a plan of some kind, but being kept out of the loop was never something Jean had been very good at accepting.

But Lucien, as always, treated her so very kindly. He crossed the surgery and reached for her hand. "Shall we?"

Jean took hold of his hand and felt very comforted by his affectionate squeeze. She followed him through the house, not to his study, but to his bedroom. Her breath caught in her throat, and she did her best not to audibly gasp. She had expected this in the first lesson, expected him to make love to her in the manner she was used to, allowing her to get used to things. But he had taken a completely different—albeit completely wonderful—approach. And she had just assumed that the second lesson would be more of the same. Clearly, Lucien had something else in mind.

Lucien immediately noticed her falter, though she did a good job of hiding it. "Is this alright? I thought we'd need more space than just the sofa in the study could provide, and we can lock the door here, just in case. But we can go somewhere else, if you'd like."

"No, this is fine," she replied, convincing herself as much as she was answering him.

"Good." He took her into his bedroom and locked the door behind them. "Now then, this second lesson is going to be about understanding your body better. And it builds on the last lesson. Communication is key to this, I think, which is why I wanted to work on that first. I want you to explore what feels good to you, Jean, to be able to tell me what you want, once you learn what that is."

She willed her racing heart to calm. "And how are we going to do that?" she asked.

He couldn't help but chuckle. Always so practical, his Jean. Always wanting to focus on the heart of the matter. "Well first I think you'll need to be bare. And that's the part I was thinking about earlier."

"Oh were you?" she fired back with a smirk.

"Mmm, yes, but not like that," he replied with a smile of his own. "No, I thought I'd ask you if you'd like to undress yourself or if you'd like me to do it for you."

"Well, how considerate."

Her sarcasm made him laugh again. She was so much more comfortable now than she'd been last week when they'd had their first lesson. And he was so glad. He'd hoped things would only get easier for her, that she'd be able to learn and enjoy more if she was comfortable.

Despite her snide response, Jean was put at ease with his thought of giving her a choice. He'd given her a delicious sort of power last time, as difficult as it had been for her, to force her into telling him precisely what she wanted. By giving her this small choice now, he was ensuring her autonomy once again. She'd honestly never even dreamed that such a thing was at all possible. And even though she was still quite uneducated in such things, Jean had to believe that the things Lucien was doing were not just to educate her, but to show his care in a way that not many other men would bother with. He was a good man, this man of hers, and she was immensely proud and unbelievably lucky to love him.

"If you'd like to undress yourself, I don't have to watch you, if you'd rather I didn't," he offered, when she took a moment to reply.

Such a thought hadn't even occurred to Jean. But there was something quite enticing about the prospect. "I think I will undress myself," she finally told him. But I would like you to watch."


	11. Chapter 11

And there it was again, that unexpected boldness that Lucien found so very intoxicating. He'd thought he was better prepared this time. But of course, Jean was still so full of wonderful surprises. He couldn't help but grin excitedly.

Jean's heart began to race as she realized what she'd said. What she'd agreed to. Having Lucien watch her as she undressed. What did he expect? Should she try to be...sexy? Such artifice was as foreign to Jean as that Chinese silk dressing gown Lucien sometimes wore. The realization that her fiancé had likely experienced some extremely exotic things hit her full force. She knew that, of course. That fact was forefront of her mind when she'd asked for these lessons; he knew and had experienced so much more than she, and Jean didn't want to begin their marriage feeling left behind and inadequate. His level of experience had been an abstract concept to her until now, a fact that contained little detail in her mind.

But that was precisely what she was here for. Jean was here to learn, to benefit from all Lucien knew. And he himself had pointed out that he was learning from her too, learning her body and what she liked and how to please her. He was learning that as Jean learned it about herself.

And so now, Jean would help him learn about her. She would not make any grand show of it. She would merely take off her clothes, as though she were about to get in the bath or change into her nightgown. And Lucien would see how she did it, how she treated her own body when she was left to her own devices. Knowing that he was watching her have her a thrill, not of eroticism, but of deep intimacy. This was a level of comfort and knowing that came from being married. And Jean found it rather comforting to let Lucien in on such a thing now.

He watched her closely, carefully, hungrily as she first unzipped the back of her skirt and pulled her blouse out from where it was tucked in. Her nimble fingers didn't shake or falter once as she undid all the little buttons. Lucien himself felt like he might be shaking slightly. His chest was feeling rather tight, as were his trousers. Watching her expose her silk slip, push the blouse off her shoulders, slide the skirt down her hips, Lucien was distinctly reminded of just a few days before when he had undressed her for the first time. The delights of her body revealed to him in this manner were tantalizingly beautiful.

Jean did her best to ignore the way he was looking at her, the awed expression of his face and the darkness of his hungry eyes. Thinking about it too much would make her uneasy, putting herself on display for him like this. Part of her wanted to break this tension-filled silence, but what would she say? And would her voice even work? For the moment, her breathing felt a bit labored as she tried to keep herself steady.

When she stepped out of her shoes and put one stockinged foot on the edge of his bed, exposing the exquisite curve of her thigh, Lucien thought he might pass out. The simple act of watching Jean unclip her stockings and roll them down one by one, lacking any and all intent beyond simply removing them, was more than he had been prepared for. Because Jean wasn't at all stripping down to entice him—not that she'd need to try too hard—but she was instead just taking off her clothes as though he weren't there. And that in and of itself was a wonder to behold.

She was going to be his wife. His wife! This marvelous woman was going to marry him. How awfully lucky he was.

Jean did her best to keep her eyes averted from his as she pulled her slip over her head and rid herself of her bra and knickers. It was a rather inelegant thing, unclipping things and bending over to remove everything; she wasn't quite certain how to make it alluring. That wasn't the purpose of what she was doing, of course, but it was difficult to pretend Lucien wasn't there. His presence was always keenly felt by her, even from the beginning. She briefly realized that he must have had to work very hard to be a spy all those years ago. Jean couldn't imagine Lucien Blake being inconspicuous anywhere, his broad frame and brilliant grin and boisterous manner and attractive features. Jean certainly always noticed him.

"Right," she finally said, once she was naked and standing before him.

Lucien let out a slow breath as he eyed her up and down. He couldn't help it. It may have only been a few days since he last saw her, but he was in no way used to her beauty yet. "I didn't think I could believe in miracles," he muttered, mostly to himself.

But Jean heard him and looked at him sharply. "Sorry?"

Now, of course, he had to explain. "You. Here, like this, must be a blessed miracle."

Jean wasn't used to Lucien using such language. Perhaps once it might have warmed her heart, but it had quite the opposite effect on her now. "Are you calling my nudity a miracle from God?"

"Honestly I'm not sure how else to explain it."

"It was no great divine wonder, Lucien, you watched me undress," she snapped.

He chuckled, "No, I mean all of it. Your beautiful body, Jean, my god, but also the…the care and bravery and brilliant shine of everything about you. I'm perhaps not explaining myself properly. I just mean that I love you, and I cannot possibly say how much I appreciate that we can share all this."

Jean nodded, not trusting herself to say any more. Strange, that he should find their rather naughty and sinful lessons to be a miracle. It was only because Jean chose to turn her back on the Church that any of this was possible. But perhaps Lucien was right, in a way, perhaps even without the Church, God still found a way to smile upon her and bring her here to this man. That was what she chose to believe, anyway. The depth and power of her love for this man couldn't possibly be explained any other way, to her mind.

"Now, if you're ready, we can get started."

She nodded again.

Lucien instructed, "Up on the bed. On top of the duvet. Sit comfortably." She did as she was told and arranged herself leaning back against the pillows. "Yes, that's it." Lucien turned away and got something from the top drawer of his dresser. He held out one of his silk neckties. "And now to tie this over your eyes."


	12. Chapter 12

Jean's heart jumped to her throat. "What?" she squeaked nervously.

Lucien patiently explained, "When you're blindfolded, you won't be so concerned with me and what I'm doing. You can focus on feeling everything, pay attention to your body and your reactions. That way you can decide what you like best without distraction."

It did make sense, she realized. Though the shock of it certainly took her by surprise. Wherever did he come up with these ideas? But then again, where did Lucien come up with any of his wild ideas? His mind was a marvel, full of creative ingenuity, and that was so much of what she loved about him.

Jean took the silk necktie from his hand. It was one of his nicer ones, she noticed. Black and blue stripes. She smoothed it over her eyes and tied the ends in a bow behind her head.

"That alright?" she asked expectantly.

Lucien smiled, though she couldn't see him. "Yes, darling, that's perfect. Are you comfortable?"

"As comfortable as I can be without being able to see anything," she replied somewhat acerbically.

He chuckled lightly. "I promise I'll make it worth your while."

"Oh I don't doubt it."

He laughed and couldn't help but crawl across the bed and press a kiss to her lips before pulling back. "Sorry, that wasn't really part of the lesson, but I couldn't resist."

A lovely smile curled across her face. "You needn't apologize, Lucien."

He had to pause for a moment and marvel at that thought. He didn't need to apologize for kissing her. For loving her. She was going to marry him, and he could kiss her whenever the moment struck him. Perhaps she'd tire of his attentions at some point. Lucien felt rather certain he'd never, ever tire of hers. But enough of such musings. "Right, so, I'm going to touch you in all different places in all different ways. You just tell me how it feels. If it's good, if I should move on, if you want anything harder or softer or faster or slower. Just tell me, like we did last time. And focus on how things feel."

Jean nodded, steeling herself for whatever was coming. Blindfolded like this, she had no way to anticipate where his hands were going or what he was going to do. She would have no choice but to rely on what she felt.

Lucien began slowly and gently. His fingertips grazed over the elegant line of her neck. She gasped at the first contact of his touch but then let out a breathy, happy sigh. His fingers dipped into the curve of her clavicle before moving on. From there, his palms traced the line of her shoulders and down her arms. Goosebumps were being raised wherever he touched her. "Good?" he asked.

"Oh yes," she replied quickly. She had forgotten, momentarily, that she was supposed to be telling him how she felt. "You're so gentle."

"Would you like me not to be?"

"No, this is lovely. But you're a rather…physically imposing man. It's just so lovely that you can touch me so softly," she noted. Strange, with her eyes hidden, the words came much easier to her.

Lucien was rather touched by her sentiment. "You're so very precious to me, Jean. I want to always treat you as such." He scooted forward so he was sitting right beside her now. His hands rested on her arms as he leaned in and dropped tiny soft kisses on her shoulder. "If you ever want to feel my touch in any other way, all you have to do is say so," he whispered into her skin.

"That feels very nice," she told him, smiling and letting her head fall back against the pillows.

Encouraged to continue, Lucien moved his kisses up her neck, still gentle and reverent. But when he reached her pulse point just below her ear, she inhaled sharply. "Alright?" he murmured, checking on her.

"Oh yes. That was…that was very nice."

"More?"

"Yes please."

Lucien smiled against her skin and moved his lips with a bit more fervor. He let his tongue dart out to taste her skin—just as delicious as he'd imagined. It took considerable effort to not groan aloud in desire. He began to suck and lick on that spot she liked, delighted by the reward of her gasps of pleasure.

Jean hadn't really realized what his beard would feel like. When they kissed, as they'd done many, many times, she had needed to get used to the scratch of it around her mouth. But his lips were so delicious and his kiss so perfect, it hadn't been too difficult to put up with the mild prickliness of his facial hair. But now feeling that same scratch on her neck, Jean was somehow enamored with his beard now. The firm softness of his lips and the velvet wetness of his tongue mixed with that harsh grazing of his beard was a thoroughly intoxicating combination. This feeling of him now was unlike anything she'd ever felt. Why oh why hadn't they done this before?

When she began to tremble and moan, he let up, though she hadn't told him to do so. He regarded his handiwork, seeing the bloom of a purple lovebite amidst the red irritation caused by his beard. He didn't know how Jean would feel about him leaving marks on her like this, and rather than have her notice later and grow cross with him, he figured it was time to move things along. If she liked it, she could tell him. And that they could explore later. Besides, there was so much more he wanted to try with her now.

Jean felt his mouth leave her neck and she found herself mildly disappointed. But then his hand moved to her breast and she could feel absolutely no negative thought whatsoever.


	13. Chapter 13

"Oh Lucien," she moaned, arching into his touch.

"Do you like that?" he whispered in her ear.

Jean hummed affirmatively and shivered. It was simultaneously exciting and unnerving, not quite knowing what he was doing. Where was his face? Where were his hands? She had no idea but she couldn't wait to find out.

She could feel him now. His kisses were trailing from her shoulder across her collarbone. He had one hand on her hip where she sat against the pillows of his bed and one hand massaging her breast.

"Harder," she muttered, blindly pushing herself against him to increase his touch.

Lucien did as he was told. He rolled her hardened nipple between his fingers and pinched it rather roughly, causing her to gasp in surprise and pleasure. "Alright?"

"That was very good," she commended.

Jean could hear him chuckle lightly at her response. He was learning what she liked. She was learning what she liked. It took quite a lot of stimulation, it seemed, after her years breastfeeding her children—even though Jack had been weaned decades earlier, now. She wasn't as sensitive as she'd imagined she would be. But she did quite appreciate Lucien's efforts.

His kisses over her chest grew a bit harder, too. Wetter. Jean could feel his beard and his tongue both right above her beating heart now. "I like your kisses," she told him, smiling at the feeling of him.

She could then feel him smile against her skin. "I'm glad. I very much like kissing you. Everywhere." He pressed an open-mouthed kiss on the curve of her breast, nipping slightly and sucking hard. "Oh Jean, you taste divine."

Her mouth was going dry now, anticipating what he might be doing next. "Keep going," she encouraged.

Lucien's touch left her completely, and Jean could feel him shift his weight on the bed and readjust himself to get a better angle. His hand first returned to her right breast and then, without warning, his mouth descended upon the left. His tongue flicked out against her nipple before he drew it between his teeth.

Jean gave a throaty moan. "That's so good, Lucien!"

"You're so beautiful, Jean. Perfect and beautiful," he murmured, pausing to take a breath. "I want you to feel good. Tell me what feels good."

"Everything feels good," she told him. Even though she was blindfolded, Jean's eyes had fluttered closes as she concentrated on the sensations he was creating in her. "The other now," she instructed.

Lucien's mouth moved to her other breast, doing just the same as he had before.

"Your teeth. I like that."

A groan of erotic desire escaped Lucien as he nipped at her breast, as she instructed. She obviously had no idea what she was doing to him. The very idea that she liked him a bit rough, lots of teeth and sharp pinches, was nearly more than he could handle. And to think that either of them had worried Jean would be too demure in her tastes for him. Such a thought was absolutely ludicrous now. He'd never tell her in a million years, but Lucien realized he'd been with courtesans who wanted him gentler than Jean was commanding him now. "I love you so much, Jeanie," he spoke against her breast.

"More," she moaned wantonly. The tension coiling in her belly was crying out to her, begging for more of what he was doing, more touch, more stimulation, more Lucien. Unknowingly, she parted her legs and readjusted her hips.

Though Jean could not see herself, Lucien could certainly see everything she was doing. He felt her move and pulled back to watch her soft thighs move wider, inviting him between them. "Good god, Jean," he breathed, utterly entranced by her uninhibited movements. Lucien returned to tracing her breast with his tongue but ran his fingertips down her ribs and waist and down to her hips.

She whimpered, "Please," and canted her hips up toward him.

"Tell me, my darling," he pleaded, taking her nipple between his teeth again.

A sharp cry of pleasure escaped her as she panted, writhing under his touch. "Your…your hand. Fingers. Inside me," came her stammering, begging request.

Lucien himself whimpered at that. She wanted him. Jean wanted him so much, she could barely form a sentence. In their last lesson, he'd been able to make her come twice. This time, he might try for a third. Assuming he could keep control of himself long enough.

His hand stroked the beautiful pale flesh of her thigh before dipping down between her legs, just as she'd asked. He traced the shape of her folds, rewarded by Jean's little moans of want with every touch. She was so wet already. He slipped one finger inside her, gently at first, lazily stroking in and out of her as his thumb searched through her curls. Her head rolled back onto the pillows and her blindfolded face pointed to the ceiling as she let out a low moan of appreciation when he found his destination.

"Good?" he asked, finally sitting up for a better angle. He was loath to leave the glory of her breasts, but he saw now that his attentions were leaving all sorts of marks all over her, and they really did need to discuss that before he would allow himself to leave any more.

"Mmm," she hummed happily. Jean bent her knees, opening them wider and grinding against his hand in time with his rhythm.

Lucien marveled at her. She was blindfolded, completely ruled by sensation and instinct alone. Did she know what she was doing? Was she learning how to get the most from him while asking for what she wanted? Or was this just her incredible natural instinct? Knowing Jean, it was probably a bit of all of the above. She was brilliant and intuitive in all things, so sex shouldn't be any different.

"More, Lucien. Faster," Jean commanded.

He curled two of his fingers inside her now, moving faster and faster as he felt her sex flutter around him. Jean was making high-pitched gasps now, an indication that she was very close. He continued on until he felt her clench and shatter and moan in satisfaction as she came.


	14. Chapter 14

Jean was breathing heavily as she came down from her high. Her whole body was buzzing with energy, though her limbs felt heavy and lazy. From where she lay blindfolded, propped up by pillows, Jean felt as though she just wanted to float away.

It took her a moment to realize that Lucien had stopped touching her. She couldn't see him and therefore had no idea what he was doing. She was about to ask him where he'd gone when she felt the weight on the bed shift. He was moving around, though perhaps she'd have to wait to find out what he was planning now. At the moment, she was quite unconcerned. Her mind felt as incoherent as her body did.

Lucien was rearranging himself on the bed with Jean while she panted, her quiet moans getting lighter and breathier as her orgasm coursed through her and dissipated. An idea had struck him, and he thought he'd try it. After all, that's what they were doing here. Trying things out. Seeing what Jean liked, how Lucien could best please her. But he needed to be at a different angle to make this work.

He settled once more between her legs, lying on the bed. He let his hands caress up and down her thighs, enjoying the way the soft skin and strong muscles of her legs reacted to his touch. Jean sighed in appreciation. Lucien leaned forward and placed a line of gentle kisses from her sternum down her stomach. He paused to look up at Jean, still blindfolded and utterly unaware of what was to come. She was smiling. He continued.

She was so wet, so hot and so ready. Lucien couldn't quite resist. And so he didn't. He parted her legs a bit wider and with a hungry growl he couldn't prevent from himself, Lucien licked her sex.

All of a sudden, Jean felt a wet heat on her. A slight scratch and a small puff of air. She sat up immediately in surprise and ripped off the blindfold. She found Lucien lying between her open legs, his mouth poised upon her. He paused at her violent reaction and glanced up at her. His expression was wary, but his eyes were dark with lust.

Jean wasn't sure what to do. Her jaw dropped to see him like this, to see so clearly in his dear face that he absolutely wanted to do this. It was one thing to feel his mouth on her breasts, but down between her legs? That felt like something else entirely. Was this a proper thing to do? But did that even matter? Her mind was warring in confusion and curiosity and uncontrolled desire.

"If you lie back, I think you'll enjoy it," he said tentatively.

"Oh…alright…" she replied hesitantly.

Lucien could see her reticence. He should have prepared her better, should have told her what he was going to do, asked if it was alright. But Jean had no way of knowing if this was alright, and he was here to teach her carnal delights such as this. And he so desperately wanted to taste her, feel her come against his mouth, have her thighs clench around his ears and smother him in her sex.

Ever so slowly, Jean settled back down, willing the nervous tension to leave her body. Lucien got started again, much slower and gentler this time. He turned his head to kiss and lick her inner thighs, first one leg and then the other.

"I want to taste you, Jean," he told her. "I want to make you shatter on my tongue."

Jean shivered with want. "Lucien," she begged, now getting worked back up again and angling her hips toward him.

Lucien moved his kisses from her thighs to her folds. He nuzzled her with his lips and nose before letting his tongue get back to work on her. Tiny gasps left her each time the swipe of his tongue found her sensitive spot. It was difficult for him to concentrate now, his cock like marble in his pants and pressed against the mattress. Hearing her and tasting her like this was very nearly more than he could bear. As much as he wanted to be able to do this for hours, Lucien knew he wouldn't be able to manage that today. Perhaps later, perhaps on their honeymoon, Lucien could spend an entire lazy afternoon going down on her, maybe wake her up with such delights one morning. But not now. Now, he wanted to move things along.

Jean couldn't quite see what he was doing from her angle. She'd left the blindfold off, after needing to see if what she felt was real. And it was. She could only see the movement of his head, his face buried between her legs. It felt different than the other things he'd done for her. Different but wonderful. Absolutely wonderful. The scratch of his beard and the suckling of his lips and the soothing swipes of his tongue were a rather heady combination.

But then she felt his tongue plunge inside her, and Jean thought she might levitate off the bed. "God, Lucien!" she cried out. Without realizing it, she reached her hands to his head, tangling her fingers in his hair and ruining the coif as she anchored him against her.

Lucien chuckled, pleased to have gotten the reaction he was looking for. He alternated sucking on her and thrusting his tongue inside, working on her as her hips bucked against his face as she pressed him as close as he could get. He continued on with gusto, even as she moaned his name and nearly screamed as her body trembled and a rush of wetness fell over his tongue.

Jean had never felt anything quite like that before. She fell back, boneless. Her hands fell away from Lucien's head, her legs and hips lost all their tension and flopped down on the bed. Her face was pointed up to the ceiling with her eyes closed in bliss and her chest heaving with every panting breath. "That was…"

"Yes?" he prompted, shifting his weight again.

She didn't quite have words for it. She could feel Lucien's light kisses travel back up her exhausted body. And she smiled. Jean opened her eyes so she could pull him up to her. "Kiss me," she murmured.


	15. Chapter 15

It was curiosity more than anything else. Curiosity mixed with the lack of inhibitions as a result of her intense orgasm. Jean wanted to know what it tasted like. What _she_ tasted like. Lucien had willingly and quite happily, it seemed, thrust his tongue inside her body and suckled her with his lips. And Jean was curious to know what he tasted when he did that. Just like how she'd learned to love whiskey by tasting it on his lips, so too could she learn this flavor as well.

Lucien crawled up the bed, back up her body. He immediately kissed her mouth deeply, letting his tongue surge against hers, letting her lick every drop of herself off him. She let out a soft moan. When he pulled back, he asked, "How was that?"

"Incredible. I didn't realize anything could be so…" Jean trailed off, suddenly embarrassed by her own eager enjoyment, the awe with which she was treating the way she felt from his efforts.

He pressed light kisses to her lips. "I'm glad."

Lucien had been about to ask Jean what she liked, what she'd like him to do next, but she prevented him. She deepened their kiss once again. Jean leaned forward, her arms round his neck, and pushed herself on top of him. Lucien allowed himself to fall back onto the bed, hold her warm, bare body against him. Maddeningly, he was still fully clothed. But, as with the last time, Lucien had no intention of going any further or insinuating his own pleasure into their lessons without Jean's prompting. He'd do anything she asked. How could he resist, her naked body in his arms and his throbbing erection desperately seeking her wet heat through his trousers.

The tie used to blindfold Jean had been abandoned. The entire purpose of the lesson had been abandoned as well. There was not a thought in either of their heads about it now. Lucien held her against him, and Jean couldn't stop kissing him as though her life depended on it. Her whole body was abuzz with crackling energy. She wanted more. More of what, she couldn't quite articulate. But she wanted more.

As their hungry kisses continued, Jean's nimble fingers went to work on Lucien's clothes. His waistcoat and shirt were opened in no time. He sat up, pulling her onto his lap, so he could remove the layers on his upper half. She bit her kiss-swollen lips as she watched him pull his vest up over his head, baring his perfect muscular chest.

Immediately her hands were on him. Her mouth followed quickly. She dug her fingers into his chest as her lips made a line of kisses from his shoulder up his neck. Without even really meaning to, she bit down on the thick muscles under her mouth, causing him to hiss in pleasured pain. That sound spurred her on as she licked and sucked on the salty sweat of his skin.

Her fingers trailed down his waist, moving and tracing the ridges of his abdominals. Jean pulled way to look at what she was doing, swiftly unbuckling his belt and unbuttoning his trousers.

That was when he stopped her. "No, Jean," he said, grabbing her wrists in his hands before she could go any further. He was panting with arousal so hard that he could barely see straight. But he still retained just enough control. "Not yet, my darling."

"Not yet?"

"Not today. There's more to do," he explained, rather haphazardly.

Nevertheless, Jean understood. He was still taking thing slow for her. Even if she didn't want to in this moment, she would be grateful for his patience when their libidos were not ruling their actions. Jean nodded.

Lucien leaned in and kissed her softly, letting go of her hands to pull her back into his embrace. He could just kiss her. He so very much wanted to just keep on kissing her.

But Jean would not be deterred. She returned to removing his trousers, climbing off him so he could stand up and remove the rest of his clothes. "Like before," she explained, half-way asking him if such liberties might be alright. For Jean could tell rather clearly that he was highly aroused and likely needed a release.

And in his lustful weakness, Lucien agreed. "Yes, alright. Like before." He stood up to push his trousers and trunks onto the floor. He sat back down on the edge of the bed. They were both completely naked now. Naked and on top of his bed. Naked and on top of his bed and his wanting erection waiting for Jean's attentions.

Jean did not want to do exactly what she'd done before. That had been for her to learn the very basics of how she might please her soon-to-be husband. And now it was time for her to experiment. She climbed on top of him, straddling just one of his legs. She was still wet and hot and sensitive from everything Lucien had done to her thus far, and the hard muscle of his thigh nearly sent her into a frenzy. Lucien whimpered slightly as she rubbed herself against him, testing the sensations. But before he could protest at all, she took his cock in her hand.

Lucien wanted to collapse back onto the bed and revel in the feeling of her firm grasp and the torturous pleasure of each stroke of her talented hand. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her back into a messy kiss. Jean made a sound of surprise but the rhythm of her hand did not falter. She melted into his kiss, tangling her free hand in the hair on the back of his head. Her hips began to gyrate in time to her strokes. Faster and faster she moved.

Jean could feel herself getting closer and closer. Bringing him pleasure as she sought her own, kissing him while she had his hardness within her grasp, it was all taking her to a breaking point. She couldn't stop. She didn't want to stop. She wouldn't stop.


	16. Chapter 16

All of Lucien's senses were alight. He could taste Jean's tongue in his mouth, feel her strong hand stroking his cock, her wet center rubbing his thigh, her fingernails digging into his shoulder, her curved waist beneath his large hands. He curled his fingers into her flesh, feeling her sweat-slick skin. She was so slender and delicate; it would not take much for Lucien to just lift her up and thrust up inside her body instead of just her hand.

Thankfully, barely enough of his faculties remained to him to prevent such an act. He was aching to have her, more than he'd ever imagined, now that he was starting to see her wanton ways. She may have lacked experience, but she was nothing if not eager to learn. And her eagerness to learn was an eagerness of passion and pleasure. Gone was the Catholic shame that had beaten her down all her life. Gone was the fear borne from societal expectations. When they were left alone like this, the walls of her heart had tumbled down. Jean had trusted him enough to lay bare not only her body but her very soul. The wildness of her yearnings, laid dormant for too long, had crashed free of the prison she'd constructed for herself out of the necessity of self-preservation. Everything she'd ever done, Jean Beazley had done to be able to hold her head high. He loved her for that strength and moral divinity, but he loved her all the more for her vulnerability and mortal desires.

Jean could barely breathe from the exertion, could barely hold herself upright. But with her hand stroking Lucien faster and faster as she writhed on top of him, she felt his embrace tighten around her body. He felt so _good_. The friction from rubbing against him as he kissed her and held her close, the groans he emitted into her mouth as she worked him toward release, all filled her entire being with an overwhelming pleasure. Her heart thundered with love and lust for this beautiful man who had brought all of this to her world.

Without much warning, Lucien ejaculated rather fiercely. His whole body went a bit limp and lax. He pulled away from her kiss to gasp air into his lungs. Jean let go of him to wrap her arms around his neck, and with a shuddering cry, she came against his leg.

They embraced each other loosely through their heavy breathing. Lucien was far too exhausted to remain sitting upright. Slowly, he leaned back, flopping against the bed. Jean made to roll off him, but he stopped her. "Let me hold you for a while," he requested quietly. "Please." In that moment, Lucien could not bear to be parted from her.

Jean remained where she was. Her head rested against his muscular shoulder. She was starting to get a bit of a chill from the air on her sweaty body. The heat generated from her passion was cooling, leaving her to shiver slightly. Lucien must have felt the goose pimples start to form on her skin, as he started rubbing up and down her back to warm her. "This is nice," she noted softly.

"Yes," he agreed. And it was quite nice. Lucien did not quite have any more words for it in that moment. Lying on a bed, exhausted from sexual release, holding the woman he loved. It was extremely nice.

"I need to make a start on dinner. What time is it?" she asked, breaking their comfortable silence.

Lucien chuckled slightly. "I don't think it's quite that time yet. But we did skip lunch, so why don't we have tea after we get cleaned up?" he suggested.

"I don't know if I can move," she whined.

He pressed a kiss to her very mussed hair. "I hope you'll find the stamina somewhere, my darling. This was only lesson two. There's so very much more to come."

Jean rolled off him in a somewhat undignified manner. "I don't know if I can manage any more."

Lucien turned to his side, his elbow bent to prop up his head as he looked at her. "Certainly no more today. And perhaps we'll take a rest for a few days."

"How long?"

He suppressed a grin at that eager spirit of hers. "However long you want, Jean. When you're ready for more, just tell me." After all, Lucien had a great deal more to teach her. He had delicious plans percolating in mind for their next lesson.

Jean regarded him closely. She hadn't quite gotten the opportunity to do so after their first lesson. She had been far too mixed up and worried and frightened to even spare him a passing glance. But now, she harbored no such feelings. Whether she would later on remained to be seen. But for now, she was at peace, and she wanted to take in everything about him that she could. He was looking quite rumpled. Like when he was roused unexpectedly from sleep. But there was a light in his eyes, a bright energy burning in that seductive blue that she hadn't seen before. He was sated. And she had been the cause. A small bubble of pride welled up within her. "Do I look like you do?" she asked.

"I don't know. How do I look to you?" Lucien bit his tongue from suggesting that perhaps the both of them looked well-shagged. The term wasn't a proper description for what they'd done—and not done—so far. And Jean probably wouldn't appreciate his vulgarity.

"You look all mussed. And happy. You look happy."

Lucien smiled. "I am happy, Jean. And you're looking quite mussed and happy yourself. I hope looks aren't deceiving."

She leaned in and gave him a soft kiss. "I'm very happy, Lucien," she whispered against his lips.

"Then I am all the happier for it," he replied sweetly.


	17. Chapter 17

Lucien needed a bit more time to rest before he could make a move. Jean got up and used the en suite bathroom off his bedroom, giving herself a quick rinse and toweling the sweat and bodily fluids off her body. By the time she returned, Lucien had folded her clothes and put his trunks back on.

"Shower's free," she told him, wrapping his spare dressing gown around her bare body.

He walked over and placed his hands on her shoulders and leaned in for a soft kiss.

Jean just smiled. "I'll get dressed and put the kettle on. I think I can put together some light sandwiches for us."

"That sounds perfect, Jean. Thank you."

"And since it's such a lovely day and we've spent all of it inside, perhaps we can take our tea in the garden?" she suggested.

Lucien nodded. "An excellent idea, my darling. I'll shower and get dressed and meet you outside."

Jean reached up and softly traced the line of his beard, her eyes alight with affection. Before she could do anything that might delay them further, she turned and hurried from the room.

Lucien watched her walk out, leaving the door open behind her. He grinned to himself, unable to help it, rocking on the balls of his feet. Oh how very lucky he was to fall in love with such a woman. He made his way to the shower, thoughts still full of Jean. He was loath to wash the scent of her off his body, but it would be unseemly to remain as he was. And they couldn't be sure when Matthew might return home in the afternoon.

When he joined her out in the garden, Lucien found Jean wearing a light summer dress, one he wasn't sure he had seen on her before. He told her as much.

"Oh this? I made it years ago. I don't think I've worn it much." She smoothed out the full skirt of navy blue fabric, smiling at the little white polka dots all over it. She still remembered when she'd bought the fabric. It had been marked down, due to over-purchasing by the shop, and Jean just fell in love with the whimsy of it.

"You made it?"

"Yes, Lucien, I make nearly all my clothes," she reminded him.

"I know, but I've never seen you in anything like this." Lucien hoped he wasn't offending her in any way. It just surprised him, was all. The dress was sleeveless, showing off her elegant shoulders and strong, toned arms. And it was cut much lower than he was used to seeing on her. Jean's clavicle and cleavage and the expanse of her creamy freckled chest were on full display.

Jean sighed, "I know, I don't know what came over me. I suppose that's why I never wear it. It's not very appropriate for a woman of my age and position." And in truth, that was why she'd never worn this dress outside her own bedroom. She'd made it long ago, when Thomas Blake had lived and employed her in that house. And Jean was a widow and a good Catholic, and she knew her place. Her place was not wearing frilly polka dot dresses that tied tight at her waist and showed off all the curves of her body. But sometimes she would try the dress on again, look at herself in the mirror of her vanity, and think lovely fantasies about a time when she was younger and full of joy, when she could be free to act as she pleased, when she was unburdened by her lot in life.

Lucien listened to what his fiancée told him and watched the way she reacted, averting her gaze from him in slight discomfort. He wished he could tell her she was being silly, that if she wanted to wear a pretty dress, she should wear it, regardless of her age—for she was beautiful and perfect no matter the years she'd lived—and regardless of her so-called position—for such things never carried any weight in Lucien's mind whatsoever.

But that had always been the difference between Jean and himself from the start. She followed rules. He broke them. She valued the high opinion of others. He invited acrimony. She treasured order and propriety. He thrived in challenging the status quo. But in the end, she was a widowed Catholic farmgirl-turned-housekeeper, and he was a tortured, worldly doctor. Life had been cruel to them both, but Jean's suffering was brought by her very birth and Lucien's had been the tragedy of his own choices. Any way they looked at it, it was all far too unfair. And that was precisely why the love and happiness they found together was nothing short of a miracle. Neither of them was too welcome in a church anymore, but Lucien felt certain they could agree on that.

So rather than disagree with her assessment, Lucien decided to ask instead, "If you don't ever wear it, why have you got it on now?"

Jean blushed rather prettily. "I just feel so very good, Lucien."

"You feel good, so you're wearing a pretty dress?" he asked, trying to follow her logic.

She turned to him and smiled, placing a gentle hand on top of his. "You've made me feel quite brave."

His eyes sparkled at her words. "Have I?"

"I feel…safe. Safe enough to do things I never thought I would. These lessons of yours—"

"Lessons of ours," he interjected.

"Yes, these lessons of ours, I think it's just wonderful."

Lucien didn't quite know what to say. He had hoped that a sexual release might be beneficial to both Jean and himself, but he hadn't quite anticipated the breadth of the effects. "I'm glad you're enjoying."

Jean just smiled and drank her tea. She'd said quite enough as it was. But it was true, these lessons were doing wonders for her. The first one had left her feeling so insecure and uncomfortable, because everything about it was so very new and daunting. Now, though, she was feeling quite comfortable with this new intimacy with Lucien. And it was more than just physical and sexual. He'd let her be free to express herself. By forcing her to tell him what she wanted, as mortifying as it was at first, Jean had gained a confidence she'd never known. What she'd told Lucien was quite true, he did make her feel very safe and in her safety, she could be brave.

She felt closer to Lucien than she'd ever felt to another soul. Her relationship with Christopher had been so very different. He had known everything about her, had shared her entire life. Christopher Beazley was the first boy she'd ever loved, first man to ever touch her body and her heart. She'd borne his children, kept his house, shared his labor, mourned his death. Theirs had been a good marriage, she knew. Christopher was a good man, a good provider, and a good husband.

Now, though, the things Jean had experienced with Lucien, the way she felt so free to share with him, the way he so clearly wanted to share with her, it was a connection much deeper than she'd ever known. Lucien would never know what Jean was like as a smart-mouthed schoolgirl. Lucien would never know that she had knobby knees as a child and got picked on by her brothers and once got into a fist fight with her sister. Lucien would never know what she'd felt when she had gone to church, when Father Morton had baptized her sons, how singing the hymns had made her entire being take flight. Lucien would never know any of that. But he knew her, deep in her soul and encompassing her whole heart, he knew her.

Another thought crossed her mind that made her stomach turn in knots. She put her teacup down a bit forcefully, making it clatter against the saucer.

Lucien saw the swift change in her expression. "Jean?"

She looked at him and swallowed hard, putting their tea things back on the tray. "I should get a start on dinner." Even Jean could hear the harsh, bitter tone in her own voice. But there was nothing to do for it now.


	18. Chapter 18

Lucien watched Jean hurry back inside the house. She'd left so abruptly without any explanation. The change in mood was palpable; they'd been happy and relaxed, and suddenly she was on edge and closed off. Clearly something had gone through her mind that had altered her. And Lucien was entirely at a loss as to what it might be.

Not wishing to sit outside alone while Jean was upset in the house, Lucien went in after her. He had every intention of going to find her and ask what was wrong. They could talk about it and hopefully come to some sort of resolution before dinner, and everything would be fine.

But unfortunately for Lucien's plans, Jean was already in conversation in the kitchen. Matthew had returned home and was sitting at the table while Jean had begun chopping potatoes. The Chief Superintendent had loosened his tie and was massaging his sore leg as he told Jean about his day.

"Certainly makes me miss Davis, I'll tell you that," Matthew complained.

"What about Charlie?" Lucien asked, entering the room.

Matthew went on about how the new sergeant was butting heads with Bill Hobart and how Charlie was always good about keeping Bill level when they needed it. Apparently the Ballarat Police had two rather tough enforcers on the squad now. Matthew was rather certain the new one wouldn't last.

As Matthew spoke, Lucien kept his eyes trained as much as he could on Jean. She was keeping quiet and going about her task, now seasoning the chopped potatoes to get ready to roast them. Outwardly, there seemed nothing wrong. But Jean was always good at keeping her chin up and doing her work when her heart was breaking inside. Lucien had seen her do just that when she'd made a beautiful dinner for the former Mrs. Blake when she had turned up at their doorstep. Lucien nearly shuddered; memories of Mei Lin's time in Ballarat were not ones he cared to revisit.

How fascinating it was, the difference in his relationships with the two most important women he'd ever loved. He and Mei Lin had always been quite proper in how they did things. He was chaste and respectful when he courted her. Her father had quite adored the idea of an officer marrying his daughter. Lucien knew that his father-in-law would have preferred a proper Englishman, but an Australian educated in Britain seemed to serve well enough to add a certain status to the family. Mei Lin had always been proud and confident, had always known her place was to stand tall beside her husband and be a gracious hostess and manage a proper household. Their private life had been full of intellectual conversation, discussing literature and art and music and science. Theirs was a world of privilege and power, and they both fit into it so beautifully. The Blake house was admired. Certainly, some of his fellow officers had raised an eyebrow at his marrying a Chinese woman and having a mixed-race baby. But Mei Lin's father was an important diplomat and Mei Lin herself was elegant and beautiful and brilliant. Their family was the envy of all, it seemed.

But that was so very long ago. A different life. When Lucien had been quite a different man. Even if the Mei Lin who had turned up on their doorstep had been the same woman he had been married to, had not suffered so grievously in their separation, Lucien would no longer be able to be her husband. He had changed so much during the war and in all the time after. The life he had made in Ballarat suited him better than he could have ever imagined, and he now had everything he wanted in the world. And Mei Lin was changed, too. She no longer wished to be a respectable lady—though her haughty attitude still shone through on occasion—and she certainly had no interest in being any man's wife. Mei Lin had been a perfect wife to Major Blake. But Doctor Blake was not suited to her, nor her to him.

Soon, now, Jean would be his wife. The best wife he could ever hope for. She had a subversive sort of power. People liked Jean and trusted her. She knew everyone and everything, it seemed. Though she was not educated like Mei Lin, she had a thirst for knowledge and a sharp understanding that meant she could learn anything in the world and put it to good use. But she was always a practical woman. Her upbringing and life before Lucien had necessitated it. Jean had been hardened by tragedy yet was able still to be brave and to find laughter and joy and passion; their afternoon had certainly proved that.

Lucien watched her deft and practiced hands make their supper. She did not seem to be in the same mood as had come over her in the garden, but she was quieter than she might perhaps usually be, leaving Matthew and Lucien to converse largely without her. She still wore her pretty polka dot dress, though she'd put a cardigan on to cover her arms, and her apron hid her décolletage.

Dinner was a surprisingly quick affair. Matthew wanted to watch a quiz show, so he ate quickly and went into the parlor to turn on the television in time. Jean ate without much discussion, and Lucien kept in pace with her.

With Matthew preoccupied in the other room, Lucien offered to help Jean with the washing up. She accepted his assistance with thanks.

"Everything alright, darling?" he asked, taking the dishtowel to dry as she washed.

"Fine."

That was a tone of voice that was clearly not fine. "You were much better than fine earlier. Something bothering you?" he pressed.

Jean sighed almost imperceptibly and gave the slightest pause in her scrubbing.

Lucien tried again. "We had a bit of trouble last week, failing to properly communicate. If something's wrong, Jean, I hope you can tell me. We should discuss these sorts of things."

In that moment, Jean was at war with herself. She knew that he was right. They needed to communicate. And it was good of him to ask her flat out what was wrong, rather than avoid her temper and try not to pry. She knew he only meant well. But this was not something she really wanted to admit to Lucien. It wasn't something she really wanted to admit to herself, but the train of thought had run away with her. She wished more than anything that she could go to Confession and ask Father Emery for advice, for guidance and clarity. But that was no longer an available comfort to her now. She had made her choice. Lucien had been her choice, and he was all she had now.

Jean put the scrub brush down and looked over her shoulder to make sure that Matthew wasn't about to come back in and interrupt them. He seemed perfectly content on the sofa for the time being.

"I realized something," she began, still trying to figure out how exactly to express herself.

"Yes?"

"I think I need some time to…to come to grips with it." She chewed on her lip anxiously.

Lucien's heart leapt into his throat. "What do you mean?"

Jean looked at him, searching his dear face. "Everything you've done for me, Lucien, everything you've taught me and the way you've opened up my world, it's all wonderful. And I love you for it. I love you more than I can possibly say."

He smiled softly. "And I love you, Jean."

"My life before was small. I didn't think of it like that, not really. I always had big dreams, but I always knew deep down that they'd never come true. I was so young and there was so much I didn't understand." Jean turned off the faucet and dried her hands on her apron. "I thought I'd figured it out, though. I thought I'd grown up and when I'd become a wife and a mother and helped run a farm, I knew how the world was. My world, at least. But I see now that my world was so small. My life was small. My marriage was small." Her voice cracked as she revealed the ugly realization she'd had.

Lucien put the dishtowel down and placed his hands on her shoulders. "Jean, your marriage to Christopher was not small. You loved each other and built a life and a family. There's nothing small about that."

"But there's so much _more_ ," she insisted. "You've shown me."

"Sex is only one aspect of a relationship," he replied.

She shook her head. "It's not just that. It's everything. Everything that I didn't have before that I have now because Christopher died and because you divorced your wife."

Lucien stared at her, not quite sure how to respond.

Jean shrugged his hands off her and made her final damming epiphany. "I loved my husband so much, and if he'd lived, perhaps we might have had something more, but we never got the chance, did we? And all the happiness I have with you now is thanks to Christopher's death."

"Our love now doesn't diminish the love you had for Christopher, just like it doesn't diminish my marriage to Mei Lin."

"Oh yes it does," she fired back. "Because your wife is still alive. And if you loved her like I loved my Christopher, you'd be with her and not wanting to marry me."

Lucien felt as though he'd been struck in the face as he stood there in the kitchen while Jean stormed out and up the stairs to slam the door of her bedroom closed behind her.


	19. Chapter 19

Lucien first had it in his mind to run after Jean, to try to explain that things were so different between himself and Mei Lin and himself and Jean, and even Jean and Christopher, for that matter. But he stopped himself. He stood there in the kitchen with her words ringing in his ears. The sheer vitriol with which she accused him of not loving his wife enough, the idea that he could not possibly understand Jean's pain because she loved Christopher in a way he had not loved Mei Lin, to her mind. The insinuation that he was selfish and she so selfless. As though there was blame to pass around. Blame for what? Blame for trying to find happiness? Blame for changing though his traumatic experiences? Blame for not tossing Jean aside when Mei Lin came to their door?

And Lucien began to grow very angry. Jean was usually a very understanding person, full of compassion. But her Catholic morals were holding her back, as they often had in the past. She was pushing him away with her own guilt, projecting on him what she perhaps thought he should be feeling. And Lucien would have none of it. He'd never been truly cross with her before. Because he had never truly felt that she was wrong. But she was now. Jean was wrong. And he wouldn't apologize to her when she had seemingly gone out of her way to cut him down.

Without another thought, Lucien stormed off himself, grabbing a full bottle of scotch from the bar cart and slamming the door to his study.

If anyone had asked him how he was two hours earlier, he could have beamed with joy and proclaimed it was one of the most incredible days of his life. The passionate abandon he and Jean had found together, the majesty of their lustful exploration, the brilliance of their love for one another. That all felt like a distant dream now.

There was a bitterness taking root in his heart. He poured himself another glass and drank it down in one go. He'd make it all the way through the bottle before he passed out tonight, he was certain. He hadn't had a night of drinking like this in quite some time. Hadn't needed to. But he was going to have a whopper of a bender now. Let Jean pout in her room. He'd do just fine on his own down here.

Jean, meanwhile, sat at her vanity table weeping somewhat uncontrollably. Her beautiful polka dot dress was crumpled in a ball in the corner from when she had practically ripped it off her body. She sat wearing only her slip now and crying into her handkerchief. Her rings sat in front of her on the table. It had been a mistake, surely, to take her wedding band and engagement ring from Christopher out of their hiding place in the jewelry box. She wore Lucien's ring on her hand, not being able to take it off, even with her current feelings. But her fingers traced over the simple gold circle of the wedding ring she'd taken off only a few months earlier.

Christopher's ring had sat on her finger for so many years, she never really thought she'd take it off. She'd truly believed and had every intention to die with that ring on her finger. And then Lucien, who swept her off her feet so completely and mostly without her permission. She'd never wanted this. She had never wanted to fall in love again, certainly not with him, not with a man who was, in every regard, _too much_. He was so much more than she had ever been prepared for, in every possible way. He was energetic and passionate, broody and righteous, kind and funny, talented and brilliant, loving and soft. He was everything all at once. Jean had never known a man like him before, so it stood to reason she might be overwhelmed and overtaken by him. But oh, she loved him, with a love she'd never known before. And as much as she loved Lucien, as much as she adored everything about him that made him much too much, she was constantly confronted by the ghost of Christopher Beazley.

But surely that wasn't Lucien's fault? No, it certainly wasn't. Jean had tried to make it his fault, tried to force him to understand the choice she felt she had to make, a choice that seemed so easy for him. And the only conclusion she could come to was that she had loved her Christopher—perhaps still did love him—and Lucien had not really, truly loved Mei Lin. How else could she explain why Lucien had turned from his wife to cling to Jean instead, to go through the difficult hassle of a divorce just to marry her?

Whatever it was, she had spoken uncharitably to him, this man she loved so much. So with a shaky breath, Jean wiped her eyes and pulled on her dressing gown and slippers and went downstairs to find Lucien.

The door to the study was closed, but the light peeked out underneath. She knocked softly and opened it. "Lucien?"

"Go away," he muttered angrily.

She came inside anyway and closed the door behind her, leaning back against it. "I was hoping we could talk. I…I've had some time to think."

"How very nice for you," he replied harshly.

Jean was trying very hard not to be offended by the way he spoke to her, particularly when she saw that the brand new bottle of scotch that used to sit on the bar cart was nearly halfway empty now. "I just want to understand," she began again, "how you could do it. The divorce. Letting Mei Lin go. You spent so long searching for her and missing her and mourning her, and when she came back, you…you chose me instead."

He looked at her incredulously. "Of course I chose you. Mei Lin hadn't seen me in so long. A lifetime ago. The both of us were broken beyond repair. Imprisoned and beaten and starved and left to die like dogs. And you think she could love me after that? You think she wants me, of all people, the one person who could only ever remind her of who she used to be, how her life used to be, all that she's lost? I did not turn Mei Lin away on my own, Jean. You know that. You spent time with her, you spoke to her. You know she didn't want to be here."

The sound of his voice was hard and hoarse and utterly heartbroken. Jean heard every ounce of pain. And she knew he was right. She had indeed spent time with Mei Lin and spoken to her, and Jean may have been more focused on helping them all survive the terrors of Robert Hannam, but Mei Lin Blake found no home in Ballarat. And she didn't want to. But Lucien hadn't made much effort to get her to stay.

"Jean, you tell me something," Lucien demanded, the anger radiating off him.

"Yes?" she replied nervously.

"If Christopher walked through that door right now, would you leave me and go back to him?"


	20. Chapter 20

Jean's thoughts pulled her everywhere all at once. Her heart plummeted to hear Lucien angrily pose the question that had been the heart of her worries about all of this. That was really what it was. Everything she had with Lucien, she might have had with Christopher. If she had Christopher, she wouldn't have Lucien.

And how dare Lucien know exactly what her true problem really was! He was always so bloody clever, wasn't he? So intuitive to so many things yet so oblivious to so many others. Why couldn't this have been something he didn't figure out? Why couldn't he just leave her to figure it out for herself? This was Jean's problem, not Lucien's. He should just keep his drunken nose right out of it.

She was nervous and heartbroken and mad and confused all at once and it had rendered her mute as everything swirled inside of her.

Lucien saw her hesitation and pounced. He stood up from his desk chair and shoved it back behind him. "It doesn't matter what the answer is, Jean. The question doesn't matter," he told her with an impassioned timbre to his voice. "It's not a choice you have. The choice is not between me and Christopher. Christopher is long dead. And I know you know that. And I know you've lived without him for so long. And _that_ is the choice. The choice is marrying me and finding a bit of happiness and love, or continuing to just live without Christopher. It's not me or him. It's me or just yourself. I'm not going to compete for your love with a dead man, but I'm also not going to try to compare my first marriage with yours or my love for you with anything else. Because there is no comparison. I love you, Jean, and I want to marry you and spend the rest of my life with you. And that's all there is to it."

And then he faltered. He wanted to continue to be angry with her, this pointless dilemma she was so consumed by, the way she'd lashed out at him as a result. She had never really hurt him before, not like this. He could barely look at her now.

But he couldn't bring himself to leave. He just had to see her reaction. He needed to know what she would say in response. He could not part from her until he knew what her choice really was. Because if she did not choose him, _really_ choose him, Lucien wasn't quite sure he could survive it.

"Lucien," she breathed, unsure of how to answer him, unsure of how to put all of her heart into words. But she knew she must. She owed it to him to answer. She owed it to them both to find the words. She took a deep breath and began again. "Of course I choose you. I already made my choice. We've set a date. I'm wearing this ring." Jean held up her left hand to show the dazzling emeralds on her finger. "There is absolutely no doubt in my mind that I want to marry you. That I _will_ marry you," she insisted.

At that, Lucien let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

But Jean wasn't quite finished. "I love you. And I love Christopher, just as I did when he was alive. And you're right, I don't need to worry about choosing between you two, because I haven't got that choice. And worrying about what I might do if I did, there's no use in that. But everything we've shared, Lucien, everything with these lessons, I can't help but…compare. I don't want to. I really don't. But Christopher was my only experience with anything like this. And when I'm lost and confused, I haven't got anywhere to turn anymore. Christopher is dead and gone, and ever since, I've always turned to church whenever I was troubled. And I can't anymore. That adjustment has been much harder than I expected."

"You can turn to me," he suggested quietly, not daring to look her in the eye as he did so, not knowing if he was overstepping to offer.

She scoffed in spite of herself. "How do you suggest I do that? After you've finished with your lessons, we just get dressed and talk about my feelings?" she asked sarcastically.

"Well, why not?" Lucien looked up at her and thankfully did not see outrage.

Jean was actually rather touched by that. "You…really?"

"Of course. Jean, when I agreed to teach you about wide world of making love that you hadn't ever known before, I took on that task quite seriously. It isn't just about the sex, as I told you in our first lesson. It's about our love expressed in a physical manner. And that can't be fully expressed if we cannot be open and honest with each other. The communication is all part of that, which is why I tried to start with it at first. I'm not too good at communication myself, but our marriage will only be stronger if we build this foundation of trust now. As your husband, I want to be able to listen to anything and everything going on with you, whether it's telling me who you saw at the bakery or confiding in me about your apprehensions in bed or just saying you miss Christopher. Whatever it is, I want you to feel safe enough to open up to me. And I endeavor to do the same for you. And I hope that we'll be all the better for it."

She considered his words very carefully. As she did, the lightness of her untethered joy from the afternoon began to return. In a strange way, Jean felt…free.


	21. Chapter 21

Jean took two steps forward to wrap her arms around Lucien's middle and rest her head on his chest. She felt his steady heartbeat under her cheek and took a deep cleansing breath, breathing him into her soul. "Thank you," she murmured. There were no other words for it. This man who loved her so well, so deeply, so fully, how could she have ever thought to turn him away? How could she have ever doubted him? Never once since the moment they fell into each other's arms and kissed passionately in the drive mere seconds after Mei Lin drove away had Lucien given her cause to doubt him. He was stubborn and foolish and rash and reckless, but oh how he loved her.

"Jeanie?"

She smiled and suddenly felt warm all over. Whenever he used that sweet little nickname for her, Jean couldn't help but feel young and soft and sweet. It was something she hadn't felt in so very long, not now that everything else in her life served only to remind her how old and weary and tired she was. "Yes, Lucien?" she replied quietly.

"I was wondering if I might confide something in you?"

His request took her by surprise. In all the turmoil she'd been tortured by, she had neglected to give thought to him. She had assumed, perhaps incorrectly, that he was doing perfectly well. After all, when it came to matters such as this, he had always seemed so confident, so sure of everything between them. She had been the reticent one, never him.

Lucien didn't get a response to his request. But the way Jean stiffened in his arms meant she was listening. "I didn't do very well when Mei Lin was here. I escaped as best I could, I focused on police cases and on the intrigue from Hannam and the rest, and I pushed aside everything else because I didn't know what to do about it, but I see now that it was a horrible mistake."

Jean pulled back from him slightly to look up at his face. "What do you mean?"

"I think if I had let myself think about it at the time, I might not have survived. But seeing Mei Lin—my wife—and seeing only a stranger, seeing a life that was dead and buried even when she and I somehow weren't…it broke my heart, Jean," he confessed.

He paused for a moment and Jean reached up the put her hand on his cheek. Lucien closed his eyes and let her touch calm him. It wasn't easy for him to tell her these things, to admit the dark parts of his heart aloud. But she deserved to know. And he deserved the opportunity to unburden himself.

Lucien continued, "I felt so horribly guilty, worrying that I wanted to cast Mei Lin aside because I was so irrevocably in love with you and then terrified that I would lose you to the propriety of the situation. I never wanted you to feel like 'the other woman' or like you didn't have a place in my life with her there. And I know you did," he said quickly, cutting off her interjection. "I'm sorry for every moment of that. But I'm even more sorry that I didn't tell you how conflicted I was, how much it hurt me to see her there and think only of the way we used to be and the screaming terror of our last moments together. Seeing Mei Lin was a miracle. But it was a curse for us both. We came to understand that, and that's why she was so happy to leave and let us live our life. Because I belong here, Jean. In this house. And most importantly, I belong here with you."

Jean felt herself at something of a loss. Her hand left his cheek as her mind whirled. Her traitorous mouth was too quick for her thoughts. "How?" she breathed. Lucien looked at her curiously. She elaborated, "How can you love me so much?"

And at that, Lucien smiled. He took her face in his hands and gave her one single soft kiss. "You saved my soul," he told her. "You pushed me to be more than I was, to think of others and to climb out of the selfish pit of my own despair. You gave me strength and a sense of purpose. You gave me a home when I thought I'd never find one again, particularly not here." The words came to Lucien's mind and died on his lips, for he knew that to say what he'd just realized might be too much.

Clever Jean, though, saw his hesitation. "Please don't hold back from me," she murmured.

Tears filled Lucien's eyes and his voice cracked as he gave his final heartfelt confession. "I thought my life was punishment, and I thought my heart would never heal. And I don't think I really wanted it to. I wanted to suffer for the way I'd failed as a father and as a husband and as a man. And when I met you and shared this house with you and allowed you to worm your way under my skin, I found the part of me that I didn't know I was missing. I was a broken man, and you showed me how to be whole. I lived an entire life before I met you, Jean, and have lived an entirely different one since we've been together, and it is the greatest joy I have ever known to be able to hold you in my arms and tell you how much I love you."

A mighty sob wracked Jean's whole body. For in that moment, everything finally clicked into place for her. Lucien's beautiful words had put it all in perspective. The life she had lived with Christopher had been small and limited, but what of it? She had been happy and she had loved him, but that life was gone. It wasn't better or worse than the life she had now. It was just as it was for Lucien and Mei Lin in Singapore. All that had come before had created the people they became, had brought them to this moment, standing together in the late night quiet in Lucien's study. But as Lucien had told her that falling in love had shown him how to become whole, so had Lucien opened Jean's whole world as she fell in love with him. Lucien had seen something in her that no one else ever had, and he had encouraged her and included her and let her be his partner, and Jean had felt valued and finally seen for the first time in her life. Christopher had known Jean since childhood and knew her family and knew everything about her. But he had not known her very heart and soul as Lucien did now.

Words from an old book popped into her head that described this powerful realization better than anything Jean could have ever come up with herself: _whatever our souls are made out of, his and mine are the same_.

No more words came after that. Both Jean and Lucien cried in their catharsis. And so simultaneously that neither knew who moved first, the pair of them crashed together and kissed one another with everything they had.


	22. Chapter 22

There was something about this kiss that felt different to Lucien. Something about the way Jean's lips moved against his that felt a bit unhinged. Perhaps this fight and their shared outpouring of emotion had freed her in some way or had perhaps broken something in her. Her tongue was insistent and her taste was oh so sweet. Lucien succumbed to the splendor of her.

For Jean's part, this felt the monumental shift of her position. It all made sense now, all felt resolved. She knew, of course, that her doubts and fears would not be gone for good—they might never be well and truly gone—but they would no longer consume her as they had amidst these lessons. Lucien had taught her so much more than just sex. It was like everything else in their relationship from the very beginning. She asked a question and he taught her not only the answer but everything else about the subject. He did the same with treating influenza and examining bullet wounds and spy craft and whatever else he came across in his work, all of which he shared with her.

Jean had learned through these lessons, however, that the most intimate thing between them would not be making love but would be this intense sharing of their innermost selves. Lucien had coaxed the truth from her with kindness and understanding and some much-needed pushing. He had allowed her to express her feelings without passing judgment. With this and all things, he had made her feel safe. And if that were not enough, he had shared himself with her as well. He opened up his heart to her and made them equals in their relationship. And that was really what Jean had wanted and needed. She had approached him for an education on love because she feared she was unprepared and unfit for the task. And perhaps when they had begun those two weeks earlier, she might have been. But no longer. She knew she could match him now.

She pulled out of the kiss and moved her mouth to the thick rope of muscle in his neck, letting her tongue and teeth and lips explore him. Lucien moaned at the feel of her, and his hands tightened their hold around her waist. Jean was standing on her tiptoes to reach him, though his collar was getting in her way. Her fingers found the buttons on his shirt, undoing them as quickly as she could. Thankfully, he'd already discarded his tie and waistcoat when he'd retreated to the study for his late-night drinking. She pushed the shirt off his shoulders and onto the floor before he even realized what she was doing.

Jean's mouth was sucking hard at the hollow of his throat, and Lucien's eyes fluttered closed, giving in to the glorious sensations she created. She was utterly magnificent, so much more than even he could have imagined, though he had often suspected hidden amorous depth in her. After all, no uptight prudish woman walks with the seductive sway of the hips the way Jean did. His hands found their way back to her body after she took his shirt off him. She wore her dressing gown, and it would have been no great effort for him to untie it and send it to the floor to join his shirt. He wanted to do just that. Wanted it more than anything. But this wasn't the place for such things, surely?

But Jean had better things in mind. She abandoned her worship of Lucien's neck, stepping back from him for just a moment. Her efforts, she was pleased to see, were blooming in red blotches all over him. His shirt collar would most likely hide the evidence of her affection.

Lucien swallowed hard, feeling the full brunt of the scotch he'd been drinking; he had no thoughts in his head but Jean, no rational perspective whatsoever, and his polite resistance was beginning to fail him. "Jean?" he croaked, watching to see what she was going to do next.

She untied her dressing gown and stepped out of her slippers. She wore her slip over her undergarments and nothing else. And the way Lucien looked at her was more than enough for Jean to know that this was exactly what she wanted, and she wanted it now. She wanted him now.

With dark, lust-filled eyes, Lucien gazed upon his bride-to-be. Her chest sported the lovebites he'd left on her that afternoon. Had it really been just a few hours ago that they'd had that lesson in his bedroom? It felt like so very much had happened since then. And Lucien knew he was very much ready for another round.

Jean gave a soft smile as she watched him look at her. "Lucien, I know this isn't one of our lessons, but I want you," she told him. It was no longer such a frightening thing, confessing her desires to him. They had shared so much already, and he had only ever welcomed and reassured such expressions from her.

Lucien felt a bit lightheaded at her bold assertion. "Anything, Jean," he vowed.

Her smiled widened a bit as she stepped back into the waiting circle of his arms, enjoying the feel of him holding her. "I have a question, though. Something I've been wondering."

"Oh? And what might that be?" Lucien asked in response, his hand mapping the curves of her body once more.

She bit her lip, wary of such a question. But he had always encouraged her curiosity in such things, and her bravery had only brought them both pleasure thus far. Surely this would end up the same way. "Earlier, you used your mouth on me in the most wonderful way. And I was wondering if it might feel good for you if I use my mouth like that. On you."

Lucien's heart skipped a beat at the very notion of Jean's beautiful mouth on his cock. It wasn't something he was prepared to ask of her yet, perhaps ever. But if she offered…

Jean waited for a response and only got a rather stunned nod of his head in answer. And so Jean got down on her knees in front of him.


	23. Chapter 23

She felt absolutely scared out of her wits. This was altogether new and terrifying but at the same time, exhilarating and intensely arousing. The power she seemed to hold over Lucien, a man who always possessed the most intense, virile power she'd ever seen, was more exciting than she'd imagined. He stared down at her in such awe as her shaking hands undid his belt and trousers and pushed them down his legs. His erection was straining through his shorts and she was eager to begin her exploration of him in this manner, but as she reached to bare him to her, he grabbed her wrist to stop her.

"Jean, you don't have to…" He trailed off, his voice hoarse and weak with the lust and alcohol compromising his rational mind.

"Would you rather I didn't?" she asked, hands resting on the fronts of his muscled thighs.

He swallowed hard, not sure how to answer that question.

Jean smiled, knowing that he felt trepidation at giving her a response. "I'd like to try. I'd like to give you...what you've given me. But I need you to tell me what I should do. How you'll enjoy it best."

Slowly, Lucien nodded. And Jean pulled his trunks down to his ankles and helped him step out of his shoes and socks and trousers. His hard cock bobbed with his movements. It really was quite magnificent. Thick and long and proud.

To start, Jean took him in hand as she'd done before, feeling the velvety soft texture of him as her hand slid over his skin. He whimpered slightly at her touch. "Lucien," she murmured, prompting instruction from him.

"Lips...tongue…" was all he could choke out.

Taking whatever direction she could from that, Jean leaned her head in and pressed a soft kiss to the head of his cock, dragging her lips down his shaft, letting her tongue dart out to taste him. It was a rather specific taste, she found. Like the salty, musky taste of the rest of him, but heightened somehow.

Lucien stumbled back and gripped the end of the desk tightly. He wanted to groan and practically shout out, but he still possessed enough sense to know that it was late and Matthew was asleep just down the hall, and the worst thing would be for anyone to catch Jean in this compromising impression. Regardless of the fact that this was entirely her idea, there was no way she would ever want anyone to _know_.

"Is that...how is that?" she asked him.

"Good," he breathed.

"What else? Surely there's...more…"

"Your...your mouth. If you want to…" Something about explaining such things to her felt strangely mortifying but highly erotic at the same time. Nowhere in his lessons had Lucien anticipated anything like this, not before they were married. But he should have known that Jean would be a highly advanced student.

"If I want to what?" She swirled her tongue around him making him shudder at the remarkable sensation. Jean smiled to herself. "Please, tell me what to do with my mouth, Lucien."

"Suck."

Jean was startled at the thought at first but quickly felt silly for not thinking of such a thing before. If the squeezing stroking motion of her hand felt good and certainly it would feel good to him to be inside her, her mouth sucking on him must feel rather good as well. Men's pleasure seemed to be significantly more straightforward than a woman's.

Without any further conversation, Jean took him into his mouth, slowly at first, and sucking him with increasing effort. Lucien's knees were trembling. His hips jerked involuntarily, and Jean realized that he might need more than just this, just as she had used her hand to move over him faster and faster for him to reach climax. She experimented with such a thing, taking more of him in her mouth, as much as she could manage, and pulling back. She moved back and forth, spurred on by Lucien's groans of pleasure, the way he moaned her name.

All of a sudden, he grabbed her hair in his fist and pulled her away from him. She looked up at him questioningly.

"Too...too much," he explained with ragged breath.

"Did I...should I do something different?" Jean asked.

Lucien let out a slow breath. "No, darling, that was utterly incredible. But if you didn't stop, I would be utterly spent. And I'm afraid I can't recover like I did when I was younger. I've only got one round in me, and I want to…" He trailed off. What did he want to do?

"I suppose I've got an advantage over you in that regard," she teased.

He took her hand to help her stand and smiled. "You've got most advantages over me, Jean. You are utterly marvelous, my darling."

Jean grinned proudly and leaned in to kiss him. He seemed to take as much pleasure in kissing her after her mouth had been on him as she had with him earlier that afternoon. She pulled away eventually, though. "Lucien?"

"Yes, Jean?"

"Will you make love you me? Properly?"

Lucien faltered for a moment. His body and his heart screamed at him to just pull the last of her clothes off her and take her hard and fast over the desk, to give her exactly what she asked for. But his mind cautioned him. He had taken great pains to take things slowly with Jean, to give her experience and confidence and ease her into things between then. But wasn't her request exactly what he'd hoped for? That she would be able to communicate her wants and needs to him, to have her be eager and comfortable in such physical delights? She certainly seemed ready. And sweet Christ, he wanted her so much.

Jean's hands traced the ridges of his muscles over his chest and murmured into his skin, "Please, love, please love me."

That did him in. "Oh Jean, I love you more than words."


	24. Chapter 24

It felt a bit odd for Lucien to be completely nude and Jean not yet fully bared to him. That surely must be his first task. He moved her away from him just enough so he could pull her slip up over her head. A soft smile appeared on her face as she took pleasure in having him undress her this way. He reached behind her to unhook her bra, pressing tiny kisses all over her face as he did so. By the time he pushed her knickers off her hips and she kicked them aside, the both of them were grinning with anticipation.

Jean paused, though, and bit her bottom lip. "Shall we go to your bedroom?"

His heart leapt at the thought of walking through the house with them both in such states of nakedness. That wouldn't do at all. Not with Matthew apt to get up in the night to stretch his bad leg or get a glass of water. No, they'd have to stay right where they were. Lucien just shook his head. He turned to push things aside on his desk and turned back to her. "Right here, darling," he insisted.

With Lucien's hands on her hips, Jean followed his lead and let him lift her to sit on the edge of the desk. "Oh!" she breathed in slight surprise.

He placed his hands on her knees and spread them apart so he could stand between her legs. "I love you, Jean," he murmured, kissing her gently. "And I'm going to make love to you."

Jean could feel her heart thunder in her chest. Lucien's words and his touch excited her and sent her spiraling into a maelstrom of lust she could hardly contain. She wanted him so much, she wanted to scream. How he planned to make love to her as she sat on his desk was a slight mystery, though he'd been so very good at showing her things she'd never considered throughout these last few weeks. She trusted him. And that thought in and of itself caused a bloom of warmth through her heart.

Lucien leaned in and kissed her fervently, tracing the seam of her lips with his tongue and surging in as she opened to him. He placed on hand on her breast, squeezing and massaging it in the somewhat rough manner he'd learned she enjoyed. He was reward with the way she moaned into his mouth. Jean's fingernails were digging into his shoulder and the back of his neck where she clung to him. The arousing pain and pleasure made him practically vibrate with want of her.

But he knew that he still needed to take it slowly. He could not lose control yet, would not rush her or take her unawares or unprepared. Lucien knew very well what he was working with. And having her mouth around his cock was nothing compared to thrusting inside her warm, wet sex. He needed to be sure she was ready.

His hand slid down her chest and into the curls between her legs. He stroked her and dipped a finger inside her, loving how she whimpered and canted her hips to grind against his hand.

Jean had to move. She couldn't quite maneuver with the way she was sitting, but he the way he was touching her was so bloody good yet not quite enough, and it was driving her mad. Then suddenly he had two of his fingers thrusting madly into her, making her gasp and bury her face in his thick neck to keep from crying out.

"Good?" he asked her.

She moaned into his skin, "God, yes!"

Lucien chuckled lightly, so awed by her wanton enthusiasm. She was so wet and nearly ready for him. He added a third finger and moved his hand harder and faster.

Jean felt stretched in the most delicious way and her body shattered at the sensation. She bit down hard on the thick muscle of where his shoulder met his neck to keep from screaming out.

It was all Lucien could do to keep quiet and upright as he felt her inner walls clench and pulsate around his fingers and her teeth sink into his flesh. If he wasn't careful, he might come before he could even be inside her. Everything her body did, every touch and sound and taste and movement from her, just drove him absolutely wild. This woman was going to be his _wife_! What a truly blessed notion.

Lucien removed his hand from between her legs, letting her catch her breath from her aftershocks. Jean's eyes fluttered open and saw him lick his fingers clean, and she couldn't help but give a breathy moan at the erotic image of him, looking so pleased with himself and so utterly gorgeous, naked as he was.

"Are you ready, Jean?" he asked, knowing that her body certainly was but hoping she was just as eager of mind.

Jean just nodded her head. She couldn't seem to find her voice at the moment. She just watched in awe as Lucien stepped closer to her, holding his thick cock in hand, and lined himself up to enter her. The head of him brushed her wetness and a high-pitched gasp escaped her lips. Her breathing was heavy and her heart was pounding, and she grabbed hold of his shoulders again as he slowly pushed inside her. Shallowly, at first, and pulling out, then going in a bit deeper.

Lucien felt as though he deserved a medal for this, for the control he was able to barely cling to, to go so slowly and gently. He was not as young as he once was, which aided in dulling his sensitivity somewhat, but he had never wanted a woman so much in all his life. His body was screaming out for her, finding his home here inside her, knowing that he belonged here in the shelter of her thighs and the warmth of her perfect body.

At last he was sheathed to the hilt inside her. Jean felt a sense of filling and stretching radiate from her center out to every inch of her body. He felt so _good_. She wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him as close to her as she could, feeling him all over. "Lucien," she breathed, nearly wanting to weep with the glory of joining with him like this at last.


	25. Chapter 25

He started slowly again. He had to. Lucien needed to savor every moment of being inside her at long last. Why had he ever made them wait for this? Why had he not indulged sooner, when they both so clearly wanted each other? They could be in a bed, not making do on the desk like this.

But oh, even so, it was perfect. Jean was perfect. Her legs squeezed him, pulled him in close and deep. Her panting breath on his neck sent shivers down his spine. She felt made for him, moulded to fit him inside her. "I love you," he whispered, picking up a bit of speed.

Jean loved the feel of him in her. Every stroke touched the deepest parts of her, and the intimacy of finally being together like this was something altogether divine. This was not the first time Jean had noticed a near-religious blessing and miracle of exploring her relationship with Lucien in a manner that only became possible after turning her back on the church. Things worked out in mysterious ways. "I love you," she moaned in response, wrapping herself around him even tighter.

The angle, as good as it felt sexually, was not quite right, Jean realized. "Lucien, wait." He had spent so much time and effort making her feel open enough to tell him what she wanted and needed, she had no trouble telling him to stop.

Lucien immediately pulled out of her and froze. "What's wrong?"

She smiled encouragingly, not wanting to worry him. She traced the line of his beard as she explained, "Sitting like this hurts my back a bit. Is there a different way we could…?"

He relaxed, thankful that it wasn't something more serious, that she wasn't regretting taking this step. On the contrary, she wanted to try something else. "Of course, darling. There are quite a few positions. For now, how about…" he trailed off, trying to decide the best way to go about this. If sitting on the desk like that wasn't comfortable for her and they couldn't risk going to the bedroom, he'd need to be a bit creative.

An idea popped into his lust-addled mind that made him audibly whimper. Jean looked at him curiously at the sound. "Yes?"

"Will you trust me?"

"Always," she assured him.

Lucien couldn't help leaning in to kiss her gently. "Stand up and turn around," he whispered.

Jean was utterly lost now. But she trusted him, so she did as he asked. Lucien stepped back from her to give her space. She turned and faced the desk with Lucien behind her. She felt him step closer again. His breath blew against the tangled curls of her hair as he kissed the side of her neck, making her tremble with anticipation again. Jean could feel his hardness against her bum, slightly wet from being inside her already. A part of her wanted to be bothered by the untidiness of it all, but when everything felt so good, when it was _Lucien_ inspiring all of these naughty things within her…she couldn't bring herself to muster any complaint.

"Lean forward," Lucien instructed. "Brace yourself on the desk and spread your legs apart."

She gasped slightly when she realized what he was going to do. But Jean trusted him, and before she could even think that this was undignified and no better than the animals on her father's farm, Lucien had thrust inside her again. And this different angle was something altogether new and wonderful. A low, deep moan fell from her lips as she felt Lucien's enormous hands grip her hips and massage her flesh. She rocked back to meet his every movement, wanting more and more.

Lucien had honestly never dreamed of taking her like this, rough and somewhat impersonal. He liked to watch her and feel every bit of her, and this gave only the barest contact between them. But the feel of her hips and her bum under his hands was intoxicating. The slope of her spine was elegant and beautiful. And Jean's instincts about sex were once again absolutely spot on, the way she matched his thrusts with her own.

He wanted to give her more, however, to explore every possibility they could. He leaned forward, covering her body with his. His thrusts were not as powerful this way, but it allowed him to take her breast in one hand and let his other journey down through her curls. Jean gasped as he applied pressure and rubbed her while he stroked inside her. His mouth left wet kisses on her shoulder as he gave her nipple a sharp pinch. Her head fell back and her body snapped.

As much as he wanted desperately to stay inside her as she came, to find his own release along with her, Lucien did not want to come this way. He pulled out of her, and practically collapsed into the chair nearby.

Jean felt his absence quite keenly. "Lucien?" She turned, feeling like her legs were made of jelly. Her body was still pulsing with the pleasure of the climax he brought her. "What's wrong?"

He was breathing heavily but smiled up at her. "Nothing, darling. Nothing at all. I just…need a moment." He wanted to hold her in his arms the first time he came inside her, to see her face and kiss her lips. And he needed to figure out a position that would allow that.

"You're sure you're alright?" she asked with concern.

Lucien nodded. "I told you, Jeanie, I'm not as young as I once was. Takes a great deal of effort for me to give you everything I want to give you."

"But I want you to enjoy yourself as well," Jean replied, trying not to feel mildly hurt for the inequity of their relationship. He wanted to give her so much—he _could_ give her so much—and she felt very keenly her inexperience now, knowing that he was working so hard and she was only reaping the rewards.

"Oh darling, I'm more than enjoying myself. You can't imagine how incredible you are, how resplendent you are in everything we've done, everything we're doing. So if I can only go one round myself, I want to be sure we get the most out of it we can."

"And we're not finished yet?"

A rather naughty grin spread over his face. "No, Jean, we're not."


	26. Chapter 26

"Back up on the desk, my darling," Lucien directed.

She frowned in slight confusion. She'd just told him that the way he took her on the desk like that was bad on her back. What was he up to now?

"Maybe clear it off first," he suggested.

"You want me to clean your desk _now_?" Jean asked incredulously.

Lucien grinned and leaned forward, swiping all the papers off the desk with one might sweep of his arm.

"I'm the one who's going to have to pick all that up in the morning!"

"We can clean everything together in the morning and blush and giggle about it in the light of day, I promise," he said somewhat dismissively. "Please sit on the edge of the desk and lie back," Lucien requested once more.

Jean wasn't sure what was going on, this strange mood of his. One minute, they were engaged in the most passionate lovemaking imaginable, so good that her toes curled and she forgot even her own name. The next minute, he was teasing her and making a mess of things while giving silly instructions. "You'd better make this worth my while," she warned.

Lucien saw that playful glint in her eye and grinned. "Oh I very much will."

She did as he asked, lying down on his desk. Her legs dangled off the end of the desk at her knees. Certainly not the most comfortable thing. And, of course, her body was sweaty and practically dripping from what Lucien had already been doing to her this night. Perhaps it was best for Lucien to clear the desk as he had. Oh, she was surely going to have to spend a lot of time cleaning up in here tomorrow!

But all such practical concerns flitted from her mind as she heard the chair legs scrape against the rug. Lucien was scooting himself closer to her. And before she could lift her head to see what he was doing, his hands were on her hips, pulling her forward. Half her bum was hanging off the edge now, but Lucien held her steady by draping her thighs over his broad shoulders.

Jean knew what he was doing now. "Lucien, are you sure?" she asked. "You don't have to…"

"But I want to," he interrupted. "I assure you, Jean, I didn't nearly get my fill earlier."

She might not have understood that sentiment before. Even that very afternoon—less than twelve hours ago!—Jean would not have fully comprehended how Lucien could take such pleasure in this thoroughly one-sided act. After all, she got all the enjoyment and he did all the work. But now, she knew better. She had gotten the sheer delight of getting down on her knees before him and taking him in her mouth and tasting his arousal, seeing his frenzied expression, feeling his pleasure as she gave it to him. The power and control and excitement it had brought her was a pleasure in itself. Jean could see now how he might genuinely want to do this for her more.

Lucien looked up at her and saw her smile that very specific naughty smile he was getting to know now. "Alright?" he asked, just making certain.

"I do wonder if it will be different, now that I know what to expect. If it will be as…"

"As what?" Lucien was fascinated to know what her description of such a thing might be.

"Earth-shattering."

He wanted to give a little laugh, but the compliment of his skills was enough to make him practically choke with his own arousal now. "I'll endeavor to do my best for you, darling."

And with a proud grin, he set to work on her. Jean sighed happily and let her head roll back onto the desk. Not as comfortable as lying on the bed earlier, but she was quite sure that Lucien could make her feel good wherever she was. It was actually better this way, having her legs over him like this; Lucien could hold her hips in place and move her more than he could when they were both lying on the bed.

Lucien took his time with her now. After all, they had to stay quiet. He didn't want to catch her off-guard and have her yelp in surprise. No, he would caress her with his mouth, lavish her with his kisses and soft brushes of his lips and sweet teases with his tongue. He would build her up slowly and let her shatter blissfully.

Jean did notice that it felt different this time. Less hungry, more loving. She felt his love for her in nearly everything he did, in one way or another. This was just another technique. Would his skill never cease? How much more could he do, how much more could he introduce her to? She had no way of knowing, but such a prospect did not frighten her now, not as it once had. She was excited to share anything and everything with this gorgeous man between her legs. Lucien would be her husband, and Jean would be his wife. They perhaps would not have an entire lifetime together, what with their marriage beginning so late in life, but they were not so old and tired as to miss their chance. Certainly not. They could take their time. For they had the time. They would be together for such a long time, she knew.

There was a quick change in his rhythm, making her gasp and buck her hips against him. His tongue had been languid thus far, but now found the spot that was her weakness. She grabbed his hair between her fingers and pressed his face right there grinding herself against his mouth. "Oh, right there, Lucien, please!" she moaned.

How could he deny her? How could he possibly hope to stick to a plan when she asked him for exactly what she wanted? He wrapped his lips around her and sucked hard, vibrating her with the rapid flicks of his tongue.

Jean's thighs were clenched tighter and tighter around his head as the tension coiled tighter and tighter deep in her belly. Lucien thrust his tongue inside her and a visceral scream escaped her.


	27. Chapter 27

Lucien felt his cock twitch and his blood run cold. A truly unfamiliar combination. He stood sharply and grabbed a still-writhing Jean off the desk and pulled her into his lap. She was whimpering as her orgasm still claimed her. He kissed her lips to keep her quiet.

Jean wasn't quite sure what was going on. One minute she was lying with Lucien's masterful mouth making her come apart at the seams, and the next, she was curled up in his arms with that very mouth of his pressed against her lips.

She had to pull away, unable to catch her breath. "What…?" Full sentences were beyond her ability just then.

"Shh darling, we don't want to wake Matthew," he explained softly.

Jean pressed her face against his neck, holding him tightly. "It's your own fault," she grumbled into his skin.

He chuckled, "I'm not the one screaming, Jean."

She lifted her head to face him, seeing the look of love and lust and amusement all shining in his eyes. "I wouldn't be screaming if you weren't so bloody good at that."

"Would you rather I be bad at it?"

"Oh shut up."

He laughed then and kissed the tip of her nose. "Yes, Jean."

She grinned. "If you give me just a minute, we can get back to it. I'm not quite finished with you yet."

Lucien groaned with renewed arousal. It really was getting quite out of hand, this marathon of lovemaking they had gotten engaged in. And after they'd already had a lesson that very afternoon! Though the hour had now grown remarkably late. As much as Lucien would have loved to make love to her until the sun rose, he certainly wouldn't be able to manage it. He'd only held out this long because they'd already taken care of things in the afternoon. But he knew he could not keep this up much longer. They'd already done so much—much more than he ever imagined. Surely they had to keep some things till after the wedding?

Jean shifted in his embrace, her knees slipping to either side of his hips. His length was resting against her hot, wet center. All it would take was a slight roll of his hips to thrust inside her. If he were younger, perhaps he could stand and hold her up while pounding into her, but the idea of such roughness did not hold the same appeal for him now. Not here and now with Jean.

She looked into his eyes and smiled softly. The way she regarded him, so gently, so full of care, was almost too much to bear. Her nimble fingers traced the lines of his beard before she leaned in to kiss him. Just a brush of lips, at first. Then another. Then her tongue darted out. Then she caught his bottom lip between her teeth and suckled for a moment, moaning with her want.

"Lucien," she breathed.

"Yes, Jean?" he replied, somewhat amazed he had any voice in him to make coherent noise.

"I want you inside me again."

It had been in her mind to ask him what to do next, if perhaps they should lie on the floor so he could make love to her properly—what in her mind was 'properly,' at any rate. That was all she had known, when this exercise began. Up in the hayloft with Christopher, then in the back of his father's truck, then in her bed, then in the bed they shared as husband and wife, that was how it had always been for her. Lying on her back with legs parted for her lover to climb on top of her and thrust himself inside. But Lucien had spent quite a lot of time already this evening making love to her in ways she barely comprehended. And all of it was glorious and exciting and deeply satisfying.

Now, though, now was time for them to find completion together. She wanted to wrap herself around him and feel him moving deep inside her, nestled in her warmth. Already she had been nearly wrung out with pleasure. Now was for more than that. Now was for intimacy. Now was for love.

"I am yours, Jean," he murmured against her lips. "Take me however you want me."

She pulled back, slightly confused. "What do you mean?"

"Right where you are. Raise yourself up just a bit here," he instructed, taking his cock in hand and lining himself up as she created a bit of space between them. She held onto his broad shoulders to keep her balance and brace herself. "And now back down."

Jean did as he told her, sinking down and feeling him fill and stretch her as he had before. She gasped and moved a bit slower, savoring every bit of him. When he was fully sheathed inside her, she rocked her hips slightly, testing the sensations it created.

Lucien let out a deep groan, feeling her fluttering walls around him again. "Just like that, Jean. Find what feels good, darling. Anything you want."

She realized the gift he was giving her. The same gift he'd given her from the moment their first lesson began. He was giving her the gift of control. Just as she had been given control to ask him for what she wanted, she was now being given control of the speed and manner and rhythm of their lovemaking now. "Oh Lucien," she moaned, kissing him deeply.

He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close to him as tongues tangled together. Jean was gyrating her hips in the most intoxicating manner, creating the most minute movements but each brush of his cock inside her was utterly electric. Lucien moved his hands down her waist to the flare of her hips and grasping her bum to squeeze provocatively. She jerked herself against him, and he helped guide her movements.

It took her a few experimental tries before she began to ride him in earnest. He was more than pleased to let her explore and decide what she liked. When Jean settled on her rhythm, Lucien planted his feet on the floor and thrust up to meet her. Their bodies slapped together with a sound that seemed to echo in the quiet room. Jean was emitting high-pitched gasps each time, so he caught her lips in a fiery kiss once more in effort to keep them quiet. But very quickly, they were both losing control.

Jean was floating and falling and flying, barely sure of which way was up. All she knew was that she was surrounded in every way by Lucien. Lucien, her fiancé, her lover, her very heart and soul. She wanted to tell him all that he meant to her, all that this experience meant to her. She wanted to tell him how, despite all of her doubts and worries and struggles, he had become more precious to her than the very air she breathed. He was everything to her, and no matter what happened when they fell apart and their heartrates slowed and they finally left this room, Jean knew that her very soul was entwined with his.

But she couldn't find breath for such words. Or any words. All of a sudden, Lucien pulled away and gave a visceral roar. He pulsed and emptied himself inside her, spurting hot and deep. Jean gasped loudly at the sensation and came once more. Her inner walls clenched him hard, so hard he could not have withdrawn from her heat even if he wanted to.

And finally, Jean slumped against his shoulder. Lucien's arms were wrapped loosely around her. All was still and quiet, save for their panting breaths.


	28. Chapter 28

"Am I hurting you?" she asked quietly, realizing that she was sprawled on top of him in a rather inelegant manner, and he was seated still in that hard, wooden chair with his cock going soft inside her.

"Not at all," he replied, wrapping his arms around her a bit tighter and burying his face in her thoroughly disheveled hair. He breathed her in deep before pulling back. "But perhaps we ought to think about making a move. It's very late, and we probably should get a bit of sleep."

Jean nodded and hummed a bit sadly. This night had been such magic, such a swirling tornado of emotion and hurt and lust and love and redemption. Jean did not want it to end.

But she knew Lucien was right. Time to make a move. She clambered off him, with his help, and whimpered slightly at the loss of him inside her. Her knees were a bit weak, and she had to brace herself on his shoulders while she got her balance. Lucien rested his cheek on her stomach with his arms embracing her hips. "My Jean, I do love you," he murmured.

She smiled and whispered, "I love you," as she ran her fingers through his hair, lightly scratching his scalp. The curls were starting to form, thanks to her eager hands making an absolute mess of him. He looked so boyish when he wasn't properly put together. There was a time, of course, when seeing him any way other than properly put together caused a frown of disapproval on her face. But now, Jean reveled in getting to see him in any and all states. The intimacy of knowing every detail about each other was something that was slowly coming into their relationship. They had certainly accelerated it through these lessons and now through coming together on this night. But the night had to be over now.

Jean sighed and stepped away from him. She turned to gather her clothes from where they'd been strewn about as he undressed her. Thankfully, it was late enough that Matthew wouldn't be wandering about, and Jean could just put on her dressing gown and carry her underthings upstairs to her bedroom.

Lucien took a moment to watch her. He'd always enjoyed watching her from the first, fascinated by the way this woman moved, the way she was so self-assured and entirely competent in everything she did. There was a power in the way Jean moved, whether it was stirring things on the stove, watering plants, or folding bedsheets. There was a power in the way she moved while she was entirely naked as well, which Lucien had learned more and more this last week or so. She was lithe and small, wild and restless, strong and powerful. She was everything.

She paused for a moment, staring at her slip and knickers bunched up in her arms. She looked at once winsome and weary. "Something wrong?" he asked, worried that she had, once again, gotten herself into a doubtful mood after their lovemaking just as she had after the first two lessons. He knew that if she regretted what they'd done, he might very well weep from the pain of it. And as he waited for her to respond, Lucien found himself silently begging for her to not turn him away once more.

Jean's eyes, shining pale green in the dim light of the study, met his gaze. "I just don't want to…"

"Don't want to what?" he asked on bated breath.

"I don't want to be apart from you. It's silly, I know, that we've spent practically all day and all night wrapped up in each other, and I'm utterly exhausted, but I don't quite like the idea of going up to my room and being alone," she explained.

A weight lifted off Lucien, knowing that she was not spurning him now. Quite the opposite, actually. He finally got up from the chair and grabbed his shorts to clothe himself just enough for propriety. The rest of his clothes were littered all over the floor along with his notes and files and things that they'd swept off the desk. That was a problem for the morning. Just the shorts would be sufficient for now. He placed gentle hands on her arms, rubbing them lightly through her dressing gown. "Jean, you know my bed is always open to you whenever you want to share it."

"I can't do that, Lucien."

"Why not?"

She frowned, her lips slightly pursed in disapproval.

Lucien corrected himself quickly. "I am genuinely asking. After what we've done tonight, I daresay neither of us will do anything more than sleep the moment our heads hit the pillow. Is there really anything so wrong or risky about sleeping in the same bed now?"

Jean chewed on the inside of her lips, thinking how to answer him. "I've never…I've never shared a bed with a man I wasn't married to. And I know that probably sounds ridiculous after I've already twice now made love to a man before I married him. But there are some things that really are just for married people to share. If we do all of those things now, even though we've just made love, if we don't maintain any sort of boundary, what's the point of getting married at all? I mean, shouldn't we save some things?"

"I will defer to you, of course, but I do think that there's still plenty of reason to get married, even if we do spend the night together."

"Like what?" she challenged. And she wasn't trying to be difficult. She hoped he understood that. Jean sincerely wanted to hear his answer.

He thought for a moment, finding the right words. "Well, reasons to get married include getting to wear a ring so the whole world knows I belong to you. Feeling the warm metal of it over your skin whenever my left hand touches your body. Getting to go out and introduce you to everyone as my wife, Mrs. Blake. And then even if we do spend one night making love and falling into bed, we can hardly do that every night. And we certainly won't do it in front of anyone. I don't want to sneak around and make love to you in the secrecy of darkness or only when the house is empty. I want to walk hand in hand into our bedroom and close the door. Talk about what household things need doing while you get undressed and remove your makeup, wake up in the morning and remind each other of the day's schedule while I trim my beard and you brush your hair. Walking by you at your dressing table and kissing your cheek as we watch each other in the mirror." Lucien paused, getting caught up in the beautiful dream of it. "We may have been living in the same house for all this time, Jean, but we haven't properly lived together. And all of that won't happen till we're married. But until then, I want to spend as much time with you doing anything and everything your heart desires."

Jean swallowed back the lump forming in her throat. She shifted her clothes to one arm and took Lucien's hand in her free one. And without another word, she led him out of the study—closing the door behind them—and up the stairs to her bedroom. Hand in hand all the way.


	29. Chapter 29

Lucien crept down the stairs as silently as he could the next morning. He'd slept later than he intended—they both had. But after the dizzying rounds of sex they'd engaged in, it was little wonder they'd both been utterly exhausted and slept well past first light. He only had his trunks on, since he'd left all the rest of his clothing down in the study. Jean was taking a bath and getting ready for the day, and Lucien had to go downstairs to his own room and get cleaned up himself.

And so it was that Matthew, already dressed in uniform, walked with his cane out to the kitchen and came across Dr. Blake walking down the stairs with bare feet, legs, and chest, stretching and yawning.

The two men both paused and stared at each other for a moment. Lucien was a bit startled, as was Matthew. But the chief superintendent's eyes gave a bit of a knowing glint as he smirked. "Not a word, Matthew," Lucien said quietly, trying to hide a small smile of his own.

Matthew raised his free hand defensively. "I'm just going to start a pot of coffee," he said, continuing on to the kitchen.

Lucien returned properly showered and coifed and dressed a few minutes later. He found Jean plating freshly scrambled eggs and chatting with Matthew as though nothing were awry. Lucien was quite proud of Jean for behaving so naturally. Then again, she didn't know that Matthew knew they'd spent the night together. In more ways than one.

"Good morning, all," he greeted, crossing to give Jean a kiss on the cheek just as he did most mornings.

She smiled at his affection. "Good morning, Lucien. Bit late this morning. Didn't you sleep well?" she asked. Jean was having more fun with this than was really proper. Perhaps she should have felt ashamed and embarrassed for the naughty evening she had spent with Lucien in the study followed by taking him up to her bed and falling asleep in his arms. But all she could feel at the moment was utter joy.

Lucien chuckled as he took his seat at the table, delighted by her teasing. "I slept extremely well, actually. Perhaps a bit too well. I had trouble getting up today. And you?" he asked in return.

"I slept just fine, thank you." Her lips were pressed together tightly as she tried not to start laughing.

"I didn't," Matthew interjected grumpily. "Kept getting woken up. And speaking of sleeping, have you decided which room you'll move to when you're married? Wedding's coming up soon and you'll have to get packed up."

Jean's face fell. She looked to Lucien. They hadn't actually given any thought to it at all. Of course she knew, rationally, that they'd be sleeping in the same room as husband and wife. And now that she'd had one glorious night with him, she couldn't wait to have a lifetime of sleeping with him. But _where_ was quite another question.

Lucien was as lost as she. He'd assumed that Jean would move into his room. It was bigger, after all. And her bedroom was so feminine, though he had quite a fond affection for it now, having spent the night wrapped up with her there. But there wasn't space for him and his things in there. Granted, there wasn't really space for her things in his room.

Matthew continued, "I'd suggest maybe converting the studio."

"The studio?" Lucien asked, not having ever contemplated such a thing.

"Yes. It's more removed from the rest of the house. The sound doesn't travel," he muttered.

Jean's eyes went wide with shock. Lucien had to try his best not to burst out laughing. He did, however, feel a bit hot on the back of his neck with slight embarrassment.

"Right, I'll be off, then," Matthew grunted, hauling himself out of the chair. "Thanks for breakfast, Jean."

He left without another word for anyone else. Jean and Lucien both were slightly too stunned to reply. The front door closed behind Matthew, jolting Lucien back to reality. "Well then," he began, not quite knowing where to go from there.

Jean sighed heavily and sat down. "We'll have to be more careful."

"I suppose so," he agreed.

She continued, thinking out loud. "For our next lessons, I think we'll need to keep to the mornings after he's gone, when you haven't got patients or a case. I didn't like having to try to be quiet, and we certainly weren't any good at it anyway."

Lucien felt a proud bloom of warmth in his chest. "Well, what do you think about our bedroom?"

"Our bedroom?"

"Yes, where are we going to move? I don't think either of our current rooms are suitable. Yours is too small for the two of us and mine is just off the parlor. We'll never get any privacy that way," he pointed out.

"Do you want to convert the studio into a bedroom?" she asked him, knowing what that room meant to him.

"Would you be happy there? That's all that matters to me, Jeanie."

Jean smiled. "I think I'd be happy anywhere with you, Lucien. But yes, I think that room would be wonderful for us."

He nodded with a happy grin. "That's settled then."

"But until then, we could use my room. It's more out of the way, particularly since Charlie moved out and we don't have anyone else living upstairs. We could have our next lesson there," she suggested.

"About our lessons, Jean…"

"What about them?" she asked sharply. For a moment, Jean felt the sharp stab of panic, that now that Lucien had bedded her—not in a bed, but the meaning still stood—he wanted nothing more to do with her. She knew that was nonsense, of course. Lucien loved her and wanted her, every part of her, as he'd told her last night and in the quiet of the morning when they'd woken and shared gentle kisses and soft words of love.

Lucien chose his words carefully, not wanting to blunder through this. It was important that she understood properly. "I don't think we need any more lessons."

"Oh."

He continued, not quite liking that flat tone in her voice. "After last night, after everything we…did, Jean, I just don't think you need any further education in these things."

"I hardly think you've taught me everything there is for me to learn," she replied with a single arched brow of mistrust.

"But that's not why we started this to begin with," he reminded her. "You were curious and insecure and worried that your inexperience would negatively impact our marriage, isn't that right?"

"Yes," she conceded.

"And that's not the case anymore, is it?"

Jean realized he was correct. She had no worries about their marital life, not the sexual aspect, certainly. And Lucien had shown her how to be confident and excited about their physical relationship. Perhaps a bit too excited. "Well, I'm certainly still curious. But you are right, you've allayed my…misgivings."

"I didn't do it alone, darling. Your enthusiasm and trust in me and in yourself, that's what's brought us to this point." He reached over and took her hand on the table, gently caressing the back of it with his thumb. "You've been so open, Jean. I wasn't sure how all of this would go, but I had every belief you'd find your way. But you've exceeded my wildest dreams."

"In a good way, I hope."

"In the very best way. I have never made love so passionately in all my life," he told her.

She scoffed, "Oh I don't know about that."

"Honestly, Jean," Lucien insisted. "I have been with a number of women, I'll admit, but I've never been with anyone like you. Granted, I've never been so in love before, and I'm sure that makes a difference."

Jean wasn't sure what to say to that. She blushed slightly, amazed that she'd had such an effect over the worldly doctor who miraculously wanted to make her his wife.

Lucien cleared his throat a bit awkwardly. "Anyway, we're getting off the point."

"And what is the point?"

"That the lessons have served their purpose. What we do from here is whatever we both choose. Whatever boundaries you feel are necessary before we marry, I shall abide. I have no illusion that since I've had you once, I can have you whenever I want."

"You can, you know," she interrupted.

A jolt of arousal passed through his body. He coughed slightly. "I think we should exercise a bit of restraint until after the wedding."

Jean had to laugh. "Yes, that's probably for the best. But if you think my education is complete, I'll follow your lead."

"Do you think your education is complete?"

She considered the issue for a moment. Lucien was right, the fears that plagued her before, the ones that prompted her to ask him to teach her the variety of love between a man and a woman, were all gone now. "I suppose so. I think there's more to learn and explore, certainly, but that will all come with time. No real need to rush it."

He nodded. "My thoughts precisely."

Jean stood up from the breakfast table and crossed toward him, taking his dear face in her hands. His expression softened as he closed his eyes and smiled in bliss. "Thank you, Lucien," she said softly, leaning in to kiss his forehead.

"My pleasure, Jean." And he meant it in every sense.


	30. Chapter 30

_Two months later…_

"Lucien, I will not let you, so do not try."

"I daresay if I try, you won't have much choice," he pointed out with a mischievous grin.

She sighed and rolled her eyes, turning away from him to look out the window as he drove. But Jean couldn't help but smile. Lucien held her hand in his, his thumb lightly brushing up on the lace of her glove.

Mrs. Blake. It seemed almost like a dream, that such a thing was real at last. This man whose hand she held, whose heart was so indelibly linked to her own, was finally her husband. And she, his wife. She had worried, those two months ago, when they had already crossed the line into marital affairs, that actually being married wouldn't be as important as it otherwise would have been. Jean knew now that she was very wrong.

Lucien parked the car back at their house. Matthew had taken a room at the Club, leaving them free to spend their wedding night all alone. The two men had discussed it, actually. Matthew had asked if Lucien was going to book a suite for Jean and himself before they left on their honeymoon trip. Lucien was now quite glad that he had decided they should go back home. After all, the house they had shared these last years was more special to them than any hotel suite ever could be. This would not be the first time they made love, not by a long shot, nor would it be the first night they slept in bed together. But it was momentous nonetheless. And he wanted to be at home with her to share it.

Jean allowed Lucien to walk around the car to open the door for her. "Mrs. Blake," he greeted, offering his hand to her. She beamed smiling. They walked up to the front door together. "I hope you don't mind that we've come home for the night," he said.

"No, I'm glad. We'll be in hotels for months on the honeymoon. It'll be nice to have one night here to ourselves first."

He nodded. "That was precisely my thinking." Lucien unlocked the front door and opened it. Jean went to walk through, but he grabbed her arm. "I think not, my darling."

She sighed in exasperation. "Lucien, no! I don't want you hurting yourself!"

"I assure you, Jean, I will not hurt myself. But I won't let you deprive me of my right as a husband."

And with those words, Jean knew she couldn't very well deny him. "Oh, go on," she conceded.

With a giddy grin, Lucien scooped Jean off her feet and carried her in his arms across the threshold of their house. "Welcome home, Mrs. Blake," he said softly, kissing her cheek.

"It is very good to be home. Now put me down, please."

Lucien did as she asked. She smoothed her dress back in place before she reached up and pressed a soft kiss to his jawline. Jean took his arm and they walked through the dark, empty house together. He opened the double doors to the studio and led her upstairs to the incredible bedroom they had cleaned, furnished, and decorated together.

It was in Jean's mind for a moment to be nervous. She had no real reason to be nervous, of course. There was nothing that would happen that they had not already experienced. That had been the purpose of their lessons, initially. Jean did not want to reach their wedding night feeling as though she had no idea what she was doing. She knew very well the things that would bring her pleasure, the ways she could bring pleasure to Lucien, the delights they could find together.

But tonight was different all the same. They were married now. They had the house to themselves. They did not need to worry about keeping quiet. They did not need to worry about the phone ringing to interrupt them. They did not need to worry about Matthew returning home unexpectedly. Not two weeks earlier, in fact, Jean had been on her knees in the kitchen after breakfast when the front door opened. Matthew had forgotten something, and Lucien had been able to pick his trousers up from his ankles just in the nick of time. As it was, Jean's hair had been a bit mussed and Lucien stood behind a chair to hide the damp spot forming on his tented trousers. No such concerns tonight, thankfully.

"I'll light a fire," Lucien suggested.

She let him set about it, smiling as he removed his jacket and it gently to not crush the white rose boutonniere in his lapel. Jean watched him bend over to light the match, admiring how the muscles of his back and shoulders strained against the fine fabric of his shirt. He hadn't worn a waistcoat for their wedding, which she strangely enjoyed. Less for her to take off him later. And, of course, it highlighted the significance of his wedding suit in comparison to the ones he wore day to day. He always looked handsome, but today he was glowing with joy to marry her. Jean wasn't sure she'd ever stop smiling.

While Lucien was busy, Jean went to her dressing table—already full of all her things placed just where she'd want and need them. She sat down, removed her gloves, and went about unpinning her hat and brushing out her hair. "Lucien, what time do we need to be at the station tomorrow?" she called out to him, trying to plan for their departure.

"I have a cab coming to get us at eleven. I didn't want us rushed in the morning. Our train from Melbourne isn't till about three in the afternoon," he reminded her.

"Oh we'll have plenty of time. That's good."

Lucien had the fire going by that time and came over to stand behind her, gazing at his gorgeous wife in the mirror. "Very good," he agreed softly.

Jean paused, putting her hairbrush down and watching him watch her. "Could you help me with my dress, please?" she asked.

"Of course."

She stood up with her back to him. There were a few dozen buttons all down the back of the dress that she needed assistance with. Lucien set to work right away.

"This dress is absolutely beautiful, Jean. I could hardly breathe to see you walk down the aisle today," he told her.

"I wanted something special. Something to make me feel like a proper bride. Even at my age," she said carefully. Lucien didn't need to know about the hassle with the suit that she ended up giving to Rose, the uncomfortable feeling of being in the shop and being gently told that she was far too old to be wearing a white gown.

Lucien had the first few buttons undone now and pressed a kiss to the exposed nape of her neck. "You are a proper bride. No matter the age. But I love your age, and I love you. My bride," he murmured into her skin.

Jean felt shivers pass through her at his gentle words. "This is what you meant, isn't it?" she realized quite suddenly.

"What I meant about what?" he asked, going back to the dedicated task of unbuttoning her dress.

"When I asked you about making married life different than before? When you spoke of all the little intimacies that come from properly sharing a life. Doing comfortable personal things together like this?"

"Yes, Jean. This is what I meant," he said softly.

She smiled. He had been absolutely correct about this. And they'd started right in on their wedding night. This night would not be some torrid romantic explosion of sexual passion, tearing clothes off and falling together in a whirlwind of desire. Nor would this be the settled politeness of people who had lived under the same roof for years. In many ways, however, it was both. She could brush her hair and ask her husband about their travel plans. He could help her unbutton her dress in a manner both helpful and arousing. This was the start of the rest of their life, and Jean could not imagine it being any more perfect.

The buttons were finally all open. Lucien's fingers trailed over her bare shoulders and back, though much of her skin was hidden from him still by her slip. Jean felt a bit nervous again, for she had done a bit more planning for their wedding night than she'd let on. She stepped out of the dress and went to the wardrobe to hang it nicely. She'd spent a fortune on it, and she wanted to keep it nice forever; it wouldn't do to leave her wedding dress in a clump somewhere.

Jean still wore her shoes, not quite ready to part with them yet. She turned to face Lucien again, who was watching her with an affectionate smile. She locked eyes with him and crossed her arms to gather the fabric of her slip around her hips. In one fluid motion, she pulled it off over her head.

Lucien felt his mouth go dry and his eyes nearly bug out of his head. Little had he known that underneath her wedding dress, Jean was wearing some incredibly naughty lingerie. The white lace was delicate and barely covered her. He could almost feel the scratch of it under his hands, and he immediately wanted to trace his tongue on the line of it over the tops of her breasts. "Oh…Jean…" he breathed, unable to form any other words.

"I'd like to undress my husband now," she announced, pleased at her effect on him.

He just nodded a bit uselessly. Jean approached him, the heels of her shoes echoing on the hardwood floors. Her hands were gentle as they moved over his shirt, unclipping his tie and untying it, leaving it on the vanity beside her. His head rolled back as she began unbuttoning his shirt. Lucien's eyes fluttered closed as he reveled if her touch, but not before he noticed the way the gold leaf on the ceiling shimmered in the light from the fire. This had to be, without a doubt, the most beautiful thing he had ever experienced. His wife in lingerie lovingly undressing him as gold sparkles glinted around them.

Jean noticed his breathing grow a bit heavier as her fingers danced over him, tracing the defined muscles of his shoulders and arms as she pushed the shirt off him, smoothing over his chest and abdominals after pulling his singlet over his head. It wasn't until she'd undone his belt and pushed his trousers to the floor that his attention snapped back to her.

Lucien kicked off his shoes and stepped out of the trousers before he pulled her into his arms and placed his hands on her bum to lift her up. Jean immediately wrapped her legs around his waist. Her high heels dug into his back slightly, but the sting of it spurred him on. With a growl, he began kissing her hungrily.

As his tongue surged into her mouth, Jean felt her whole body begin to tingle with the telltale arousal that Lucien never failed to inspire in her. He swallowed her moans as she anchored his face to hers and moved her hips to try to get a bit of friction between them. She was still wearing all of her fancy new underthings, and the feel of the lace was rather pleasant. But she would need to feel his skin on hers, every single bit.

It took her a moment to realize that they were moving. Jean was too caught up in their passionate kiss to take much notice, and by the time she did, he had placed her down in the middle of their brand-new bed. She lay there, gasping for air, and pushing herself up on her elbows so she could watch him quickly remove his socks and stand at the end of the bed in front of her. Jean let out a happy little sigh.

"Yes?" he asked, gazing upon her and the incredible picture she presented.

"Oh I was just thinking that I have quite the most beautiful husband in all the world."

His face broke into a proud, beaming grin. "I was just thinking that I've got quite the most beautiful wife."

Jean's heart beat faster at his words. She didn't think of Christopher or of days gone by, of regrets or worries. She thought only of her love for Lucien, her gratitude to finally be married to him, and the shockingly optimistic joy she felt about the married life they were to share.

Lucien had a plan now. He stepped a bit closer and took her shoes off her feet, placing them gently at the foot of the bed. Next, he leaned over her and unclipped her stockings, rolling them down her legs one by one, caressing the bare flesh as it was revealed to him.

Rarely had there been time for Lucien to undress her with such care before. Not since their first lesson when he had insisted she instruct him as to what to do, when she had directed him to remove her clothing. This was altogether different. And wonderful. She reveled in his attentions.

Very quickly, however, Lucien removed her garter belt and knickers. He spread her legs before him and crawled over the bed toward her. And before she knew it, his lips and tongue were tracing lines up her inner thighs and buried between them.

Jean bit her tongue to keep from crying out with the sudden onslaught. But then she remembered that no one else was home. They were all alone. And this was their wedding night. She gasped loudly and moaned his name as his tongue tortured her to the very heights of ecstasy.

He couldn't get enough of her. The little noises she made, the way she bucked her hips against his face, the way she cried out his name. Lucien sucked hard on her most sensitive spot and plunged two thick fingers inside her, curling to heighten the sensations for her. She was panting and begging for him to move harder and faster for her release. Lucien was nothing if not obedient to what Jean needed. After all, he had taught her to be vocal, to ask for what she wanted and recognize what felt good. And now, she had no qualms about telling him exactly what to do. And he loved it.

Jean felt herself be built up and up and up until her body trembled and spasmed beneath his touch. Her core was pulsating around his fingers, radiating pleasure through her whole body. Lucien pulled away from her to let her body settle down. He settled beside her on top of the bed and rolled her over, pulling her into his arms.

She vaguely felt him unhook her bra and peel it from her body. The next thing she knew, she was lying on her back again, and Lucien had a hand on one of her breasts and his mouth on the other. "Oh god, Lucien!" she groaned, feeling herself be built back up from the scratch of his beard on her sensitive flesh and her nipple hardening under the beautiful attention of his teeth and tongue.

Lucien just chuckled proudly, undeterred from his task. He loved every single bit of her body, the taste and texture of her. But her breasts were rather special to him. There was a specific sound she made when he concentrated and nipped at her just right. He tried a few different things before she made a high-pitched gasp and a little whimper, a sound that always got him rock-hard.

Jean was starting to feel a bit frenzied. Already he'd made her come once, and she knew from experience that there was plenty more to come. But this wasn't what she needed. It took every ounce of effort in her body, but she pushed herself up and reached down to shove Lucien's trunks down his legs.

He didn't even realize what she was doing, as his attention was securely on her chest, but very quickly, Jean's nimble fingers were wrapped around his hard cock. She stroked him with the confidence of experience and the power of a woman who knew exactly what she wanted and precisely how to get it. Lucien abandoned his exploration of her chest and fell back, moaning her name.

"I want you, Lucien," Jean whispered.

There was no further incentive needed. Lucien rolled over and settled between her legs, already spread and waiting for him. He gave no buildup as he rubbed the head of his cock against her wet folds and thrust hard inside her.

Jean cried out at the way he suddenly filled and stretched her. He felt so good, unlike anything she'd ever experienced. He was absolutely perfect in every way, her Lucien, and their lovemaking was unparalleled—particularly after the practice they'd gotten over the last few months.

He wasn't moving the way she wanted him to. Jean reached over and dug her fingernails into his muscled bum, pulling him in deeper and grinding her hips to create the friction she needed. Lucien watched where their bodies were joined, watched in awe as Jean took her pleasure on him, even with him poised on top of her as he was. It didn't take long, as he'd already built her up so much, till she jerked against him and gasped with her next orgasm.

Lucien had to pull out of her, for he surely would have been unable to contain himself if he remained inside her quivering sex. He was breathing heavily, trying to regain his control.

Jean, however, had other ideas. Her climaxes always made her bold, and she had learned to take the brave impulses as they came; the both of them always enjoyed the efforts she made. She pulled herself up, still feeling a bit shaky and loose, and pushed Lucien back onto the bed. He lay there against the pillows and watched her with eyes dark with lust.

She kissed down his chest, adoring those big strong muscles that kept her so happy and safe. Lucien made happy little sighs as she made her way downward, and she delighted in hearing his pleasure at her efforts. Jean took him in her mouth with very little pretense. It was exhilarating to take him like this, to be in complete control of him and drive him a bit mad. She especially enjoyed when he helped her along a bit, as he did now. Lucien's fingers twisted in her hair, holding her tightly to guide her movements, giving him exactly what he needed. The way he pulled the hair against her scalp was just on the right side of painful, and she loved it. Every single sensation heightened her want of him, her excitement over what was to come.

Lucien was starting to come apart, but he did not want to finish like this. He thrust into her mouth once before he stopped himself and pulled her off of him. "Lie down," he instructed with ragged breath.

Jean was breathing a bit heavy herself and lay herself in the middle of the bed beside him.

But Lucien shook his head. "Flip over."

A shiver passed through her as Jean rolled onto her stomach and arched her back, lifting her hips up off the bed. Lucien covered her body in an instant, squeezing the firm flesh of her bum for a moment before pushing inside her so slowly, she nearly wept to feel every single inch of him fill her up. "Oh god, Lucien!" she breathed, gasping for air as her face pressed against the pillow.

He readjusted his grip on her, sliding his hand under her body. His pace was achingly slow. The fingers grasped her breast, rolling her nipple a bit roughly. Jean whimpered in response.

"I need…" she panted.

"What do you need?" he asked, growling into her ear and brushing his teeth against it.

"More." Jean couldn't seem to form any other words. He was filling her, surrounding her, reaching so deep inside her, she saw stars in front of her eyes. But it wasn't quite enough, she knew.

Lucien shifted again so he could reach around her body with his other hand and stroke her in time with his thrusts. "How's that?" he asked.

She moaned, gyrating against him. "Faster," she begged.

He sped up, taking her at a furious pace, pounding into her with everything he had. Jean cried out as her climax crashed over her. Lucien was unrelenting. He was so close, now. He couldn't have stopped even if he wanted to.

Hard and deep and powerful, every thrust of his hips and touch of his hands overpowered every single one of her senses. His breath was hot against her neck, his sweaty skin sliding against hers. Jean could barely breathe when Lucien turned her head toward him and kissed her hard. And then with three last sputtering thrusts of his hips, he spilled inside her just as her inner walls clamped down with a vise grip around his cock, leaving them both whimpering and gasping.

Lucien flopped down beside her, slipping out of her body to collapse on his stomach and catch his breath. He must have blacked out for a moment, for the next thing he knew, there was a shift in the weight on the bed and then he felt Jean straddle his back, perched on his bum. He hummed happily at the feel of her.

Jean had rolled over to escape the wet patch they'd left on the bed. She would have time in the morning to treat the duvet with baking soda; it would be all clean and perfect by the time they returned home. There was no need to worry about it now, except that she did not particularly want to lie there. And she had seen Lucien so exhausted and stared at the scarred muscles of his golden skin. She could not resist climbing on top of him and tracing those scars with her gentle fingers.

He had never explicitly told her what had happened, what had caused his perfect body to be marred in such a way, but she knew enough of the truth. Those scars were beautiful to her, those thick white lines that served as physical proof that he had suffered, but he had healed. That he had been beaten down, but he had been able to stand tall once again. That he had nearly died, but he had survived. And because of that, he had been able to return to the home of his youth, to this house where they had met and fallen in love.

Lucien felt her gentle touches and sighed happily at the love that she imbued into his skin. Her weight on him shifted again, and he could feel her breasts pressed up against him and her tongue trace the same lines. "That feels very nice," he whispered.

"Good," she replied, covering his back in wet kisses.

"I'm afraid I'm all spent for the night," Lucien told her regretfully.

"That's alright. I just want to be sure my husband knows how I love and care for him."

Lucien smiled. "Your husband knows. And your husband adores you beyond words."

Jean sat up again and lightly scratched his scalp. Lucien practically purred under her touch, though he often resembled a lovesick puppy more than a contented cat when she was affectionate with him like this. It was still so miraculous to her, not only that he loved her so much but that he was so open and unabashed about his appreciation of her love towards him.

After a moment, Lucien lifted his head. "Jean, I think we ought to get cleaned up before bed, eh?"

She agreed and climbed off him so they could get up. Lucien, still gorgeously naked, went into the en suite to run a bath. Jean gathered their discarded clothes and tidied up the bedroom.

It was somewhere in the middle of the night when they settled into the bath together. Lucien leaned up against the back of the tub with Jean resting against his chest. Everything was quiet and peaceful as they lay wrapped around each other. Lucien couldn't help but let his hands wander under the water. Jean made absolutely no effort to stop him, finding his explorations of her skin to be a very sensual comfort. His fingers dipped between her legs. She shifted her hips to give him a bit more space and let her head fall back against his shoulder, humming happily.

"I love you, my darling wife," he whispered in her ear. "You are the most beautiful, brilliant woman in all the world. I just want to love you and please you until my dying day."

"And that had better be a long way off. I've gotten quite used to you loving and pleasing me," she replied teasingly. She then mewled as his index finger slipped inside her.

"You are my everything, Jean. I've wanted you for so long, and I won't ever let you go," he vowed. His left hand caught hold of hers and traced her wedding band as his right hand continued to pleasure her.

"Oh yes, Lucien," she moaned. She came against his hand a moment later, gasping and trembling and whispering, "I love you, I love you, I love you."

As she slumped against him, boneless from pleasure, Lucien pressed light kisses against the side of her neck and put his hand back in a more respectable place. If this hadn't been enough to get him hard again, nothing would. But he didn't mind at all. He would be ready by morning and could take his time with her before they had to get up and get ready to leave. Now was time for rest.

Once Jean was able, she got out of the bath and dried off. Lucien opened the drain and wiped the floor from where they'd made a mess. She returned to the bathroom wearing the white silk nightgown with its lace trim that she had bought especially for this night. She'd worn it once before, but Lucien had not gotten to see it then. That had not been the right time for them. That had been before she'd left the church and figured out the twisting complexities of her own heart. Now, though. Now was the time for them.

"You look beautiful, Jean," he complimented, brushing his fingers over her bare arm and the lace at her clavicle.

"Thank you." She gave a proud smile and turned to brush her teeth. Lucien went past her to get his pyjamas. Once more, the easy and intimate domesticity of it all felt so wonderful and perfect. When she went back into the bedroom, she found him about to put on a sleep shirt. "Oh don't bother with that," she told him.

"No?"

In spite of everything else they'd done this night, Jean blushed. "I…I like to feel your bare chest. If that's alright. I wouldn't want you to get cold or uncomfortable."

"No, I think you'll keep me plenty warm, my darling," he replied, putting the pyjama shirt back in the wardrobe and getting into bed with only his soft cotton trousers.

At last, they settled down in their brand-new bed, under the covers and folded in each other's arms. Jean was astounded that they'd finally gotten here. She was exhausted and could barely form coherent thought, particularly when she had Lucien's scent filling each breath she took and feeling the steady thump of his heart under her cheek. But when she thought back to where she'd been just a few months before, committed to choosing a date for their wedding and leaving the church she'd relied on her whole life, all for the sake of this incredible man in her arms, she could hardly believe it was real. He had given her the education she had asked for, certainly, taught her the ways of physical love between a man and a woman and all the incredible variety that was on offer. But through that education, they had each learned about themselves and each other. The hardship and stilted discussions and heartbroken fights that had been dredged up through those lessons had broken them both wide open. Wide enough to let the other in.

As Jean fell asleep with her husband, she realized that this was only the first night of their marriage. She had no doubt whatsoever that there was only more love and beauty in store for their future. She trusted her Lucien, she trusted in their love, and most of all, she trusted herself.

 **THE END**


End file.
